


Heretic Child

by Makeyourbodyacanvas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anti-Muggle Content, Biracial Harry Potter, Black Family (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Black Harry Potter, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Cousin Incest, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark Magic, Elder Wand (Harry Potter), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Gryffindor Harry, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Major Character Death May Not Be So Major, Major Original Character(s), Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Minor Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Muggle Studies, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other, Pagan Festivals, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Power Couple, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Purebloods (Harry Potter), References to Norse Religion & Lore, References to Witch Hunts, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, Sirius Black in Azkaban, Slightly Dark Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Harry Potter, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makeyourbodyacanvas/pseuds/Makeyourbodyacanvas
Summary: Nike lived her whole life by two words: Toujours Pur. With powerful dark magic running through her veins, it seemed to be only a matter of time until she was consumed whole by her family’s strong beliefs. But then Harry Potter made it all crash and burn right before her very eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

****_ His eyes opened. “Name one hero who was happy.” _

_ I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason’s children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus’ back. _

_ “You can’t.” He was sitting up now, leaning forward.  _

_ “I can’t.” _

_ “I know. They never let you be famous  _ _ and _ _ happy.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you a secret.” _

_ “Tell me.” I loved it when he was like this. _

_ “I’m going to be the first.” He took my palm and held it to his. “Swear it.” _

_ “Why me?” _

_ “Because you’re the reason. Swear it.” _

_ “I swear it,” I said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in his eyes. _

_ “I swear it,” he echoed. _

_ We sat like that a moment, hands touching. He grinned. _

_ “I feel like I could eat the world raw.” _

**—Madeline Miller,** [ **The Song of Achilles** ](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/16176791)

 

**Chapter 1: Seven Years Later**

 

_ 21st March, 1998 _

_ Caisteal Maol near the Harbour of the Village of Kyleakin, Isle of Skye, Scotland _

 

Four candles were placed upon the ground in each of the four quarters. The green one faced the North; the orange to the South; yellow to the East, and blue to the West. Leading the ceremony, the High Priestess entered the forming circle from the East.

 

“Let it be known that the circle is about to be cast,” she announced. “All who enter the circle may do so in perfect love and perfect trust.” Everyone waited outside the circle for the casting to be completed. The High Priestess moved clockwise around the circle, carrying a lit candle. “ We cast the circle of ancient lore; waves upon a timeless shore. With no beginning, nor an end; it always knows a foe from friend. Oroboros, of legends old; rings of power, forged in gold. Circle of Life, ring of stones; cycle of creation, birth to bones. A ring around the silver moon; we cast you now, oh ancient rune.”

 

She lit the candle to the East from the one she carried. “We call the Eastern powers of air, you whose breath of life we share. Bring an understanding, kindness, care, and loving words, both clear and fair, come less this day our rite of love, as below then so above.” She moved to the South and lit the orange candle. “We call the Southern powers of fire, whose light does stir the poet's lyre, with love's bright spark our hearts inspire, bring passion's flame, bring sweet desire, come bless this day our rite of love, as below then so above.” Next, she circled around to the West. “Oh powers of the Western sea, oh water's flowing unity, bring feeling, warmth, and empathy, that all our lives may blessed be, come bless this day our rite of love, as below then so above.” Finally, the High Priestess went to the last candle in the North. “Oh Northern powers of living Earth, charge our souls from death to birth, on solid ground or rock and loam, bring forth our food and build our home, come bless this day our rite of love, as below then so above.”

 

With that, the High Priestess announced that the circle was cast, and two figures stepped forward. 

 

“How do you enter the circle?” The Priestess asked.

 

“In perfect love and perfect trust,” the two individuals responded. 

 

And then the circle was closed.

 

“The Bride and Groom would like to take a moment to thank each one of you for being here today. They are deeply grateful for your love, support, and presence at this most special time in their lives—their rite of passage into marriage, a sacred commitment that both enter into willingly, with great love, respect, and dedication. It has been said that ritual is prayer in action. Today, we witness the transformation of two lives coming together as One, a calling to which both Nike and Harry have answered freely and without hesitation. We begin by inviting in the support of each of the cardinal directions, and the gifts and qualities contained therein, to create a sacred space from which we will proceed. The circle in which you stand is symbolic of the cycles of life, the womb of the Great Mother, a sacred place created for mortal and divine interaction, in which any negativity from the mundane world can be left outside and all the love and joy we feel for Nike and Harry contained within.

 

“Although for many the sacred and the mundane meet and coexist as often as is humanly possible, marriage is very much a sacred union, for it is a union of souls in which the bride and groom pledge unto one another their Higher Selves and all that is Divine within themselves. In the Earth-based traditions, it is considered the marriage of the God and Goddess within. You will also hear an elemental blessing. All the world's religions still parallel the agricultural calendar. We are a part of the tapestry of all life on Earth—inseparable from its laws and flow, no matter the illusions of modern life that may blur our connection to the natural cycles of life. By asking these elements of the natural world into this ceremony in a conscious way, we have the opportunity to experience greater vitality, support, and a sense of wholeness at this sacred rite of passage.”

 

Nike Black felt like she had been floating on a cloud all day. She remembered not even twenty minutes ago of staring back at her reflection in the mirror, noticing how different she actually looked. Her dress was a golden yellow with an extra dose of dramatical with the full length illusion sleeves. The neckline was an open illusion just like the back; edged with striking lace appliques. A romantic lace adorned the bodice as it met the flowing chiffon skirt. The finishing touch was a delicate belt that was covered with buttons over the zipper closure.

 

Her hair, which had grown longer in the passing months, was pinned in a classical updo with a braid going across the top of her head in the back; sticking out perfectly because of her long, thick, unruly hair.

 

Fleur had squealed that Nike looked like a goddess. And even though that was the furthest thing from the truth, she had accepted the compliment nonetheless. It had been Harry who looked otherworldly. All Nike could do was stare at his face, like it was tunnel vision. He was all she could see and it was overwhelming. His eyes were a hard, illuminating green; chiseled face almost cut up with the depth of his emotions. And when his gaze had met Nike’s, his face became as bright and soft as hers.

 

“Human beings are not separate from nature, nor will we ever be. We are a part of a larger tapestry, both spiritual and physical, taking part in a complex and ever-evolving dance of Creation with All That Is. And when we consciously choose to reconnect to the natural world while sensing the magic, beauty, and Love that flows through all things, the ordinary becomes extraordinary. It is from this place of awareness, and of spirit-filled living, that miracles happen with more grace and ease than we could ever imagine. Nike and Harry are aware of the interconnectedness of all things, and of the importance of honoring natural cycles and the elements of which they are both separate from, and an inseparable part of. It is for this reason that they have chosen to include an Elemental Blessing—to call forth the support of these ancient and timeless energies to fill their union with Light, Love, and magic that carries them through their lives together.

 

“We ask the spirits of Air to keep open the lines of communication between this couple **.** May their future be as bright as the rising sun. As Air flows freely to and from, and through us all, may their hearts, minds, and souls come to know the world and each other in this manner. Seeing not only with their eyes, but may they grow wiser together as their love deepens. We ask the spirits of Fire to bless Nike and Harry with a steady flow of passion and desire for each other; for their dreams; for life itself so they may go forward living their purpose and sharing their gifts in ever-expansive ways that strengthen the union and bless all the world around them. May they remain vital and strong for all their days together, each day fortified with a vibrancy rooted in boldness and courage. As Fire clears the way for new growth, may they know that this power is theirs as well—to create, to expand, to bring about the richness and quality of life that comes from merging with the love of one's life. 

 

“Spirits of Water, we ask that love flows freely between the shores of these lives, which will soon become One; that their love for one another, and the comfort that loved ones have to share with them be as deep as the sea, a source of respite and rejuvenation that forever flows around and through them. May they be well-loved, and love well, letting the surety with which Water makes its journey to the ocean, flowing over rocks or around trees, shape-shifting into mists that hover in the dawn's pure light, serve as a reminder that their love can evolve and transform as they grow and mature as individuals and as a couple, with the passing of time.  _ _ Spirits of Earth, we ask that you give unto those you see standing before you this day, the rock-solid place to stand and fulfill their destinies. May their journey mirror the vast plains and fertile fields, expansive and fully alive. May they find the right seeds to sow to ensure a bountiful harvest in every era of their lives. And when they look up at the North Star, may they know that it is as bright and constant as their love for each other, as well as the love that the Divine has for them.

 

“Mother Goddess and Father God, whose presence is felt in all things and at all times, we as, your endless blessings upon this couple, upon their union, and upon the family and friends who cherish them. May they become One in truth and forever revel in the magic that is the eternal Love they share.”

 

The High Priestess acknowledged Nike first and then Harry.

 

“Nike, I invite you to open to the presence of the Divine Feminine that is with you always. Allow the energy of the Goddess to flow through you, to radiate out into the world. Allow Her presence to illuminate the Divine Feminine that resides within you always—a presence that already dances in your heart and mind, that gives life to your very cells, that glows deep within your bones. For you are Goddess incarnate, and the merger with your love Harry brings forth a sacred opportunity to experience wholeness and union of these energies in a most sacred way. For you are also She who has been worshipped and adored for centuries—as Mother, Wife, Friend, Prophet,  Healer, and Confidant. May the spirit of the Great Mother shine forth from you and bless this union always. So mote it be.

 

“Harry, I invite you to open to the presence of the Divine Masculine that is with you always. Allow the energy of God to flow through you, to radiate out into the world. Allow His presence to illuminate the gifts that reside within you always - a presence that already dances in your heart and mind, that gives life to your very cells, that glows deep within your bones. For you are God incarnate, and the merger with your love Nike brings forth an opportunity to experience wholeness and a union of the energies of the Feminine and Masculine in a most sacred way. For you are also He who has been looked to for protection, strength, comfort, and honor for centuries. May the spirit of the Great Father shine forth from  you and bless this union always. So mote it be.”

 

The flames of the candles danced higher, and Nike shivered as she felt the non-existing wind creep up her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

 

“Mother Most Loving and Mysterious, touch with your grace and fill this woman with your beauty and strength in the unending cycles of growth and change that are the years and seasons of lives spent together in love and wonder. Share with her your fertile nature from which all abundance flows. Father of Light and Life, touch with your power and fill this man with your knowledge and wisdom, to guide him in this divine alchemy which is the union of two souls. Share with him the secret union of heart and mind upon which this union known as marriage is based.”

 

“ **** As Nike and Harry have prepared themselves for receiving one another in marriage today by connecting with the supporting energies of Heaven and on Earth,” The High Priestess continued on, “they declare their intention to join one another in sacred union in front of you cherished guests, and of all of Creation.”

 

“Nike, is it your intention to give your heart to Harry today in the rite of marriage—to cherish him, to support him, and to love him with a tender, passionate, and faithful heart until death do you part?”

 

“It is,” Nike said firmly.

 

“And, Harry, is it your intention to give your heart to Nike today in the rite of marriage—to cherish her, to support her, and to love her with a tender, passionate, and faithful heart until death do you part?”

 

“It is,” Harry said just as firmly.

 

“We now bear witness to the vows that Nike and Harry will share with one another.” In that moment, Nike couldn’t breathe. It seemed Harry wasn’t fairing well either because he appeared to be more pale than usual, taking a deep breath and then exhaling through his nose. Seeing that she was just as nervous, Harry held out his hand and Nike placed hers in his. The cooling of his skin felt familiar, like home. And Nike knew that there was nowhere else she belonged in the world. “Vows that will carry them into their new lives together with joy, honor, and the profound fulfillment of romantic love and partnership. Nike, repeat after me.”

 

“I, Nike, take you, Harry, to be my husband.” She repeated after the Priestess, her eyes staring into an endless ocean of green. “I give you my heart, my companionship, and my faithfulness in love through life's joys and greatest challenges; through periods of abundance and periods of apparent lack; to support you in fulfilling your dreams and life's purpose, and in encouraging and supporting you when doubts creep in and you need a reminder of the Divinity and potential that dances within you always. I offer myself always as a listener, a shoulder to cry on, with arms that treasure each moment spent holding you and hands to soothe and comfort you. You are my heart and soul's most perfect completion piece in this life, and I cross the threshold into married life with you with great joy and a wellspring of gratitude in my heart. These, and so many more, are my promises to you, until my last breath.”

 

“Harry,” The Priestess called out, gaining his attention. “You may now repeat after me.”

 

“I, Harry, take you, Nike, to be my wife. I give you my heart, my companionship, and my faithfulness in love through life's joys and greatest challenges; through periods of abundance and times of apparent lack; in times of health and vitality, and times of sickness; to support you in fulfilling your dreams and life's purpose, and in encouraging and supporting you when doubt creeps in and you need a reminder of the Divinity and potential that dances within you always. I offer myself always as a listener, a shoulder to cry on, with arms that treasure each moment spent holding you and hands to soothe and comfort you. You are my heart and soul's most perfect completion piece in this life, and I cross the threshold of married life with you with great joy and a wellspring of gratitude in my heart. These, and so many more, are my promises to you, until my last breath.”

 

The Priestess moved around the circle as she spoke, watching the intendeds as old, decreded dark magic slowly began to bind them in not only life, but in spirit, too. “The circle is a universal symbol of cycles, unity, and eternity. In the wedding ring, we place these symbols upon the ring finger as a sign to all the world of the deepest love we share with joy and pride; to commemorate the sacredness of these moments shared here today; to act as a reminder of the vows taken and the blessings of marriage for those who seek to keep the bright flames of Love, joy, passion, faithfulness, and compassion alive and evolving within it. Just as two interlocking circles form the number "8"—an endless weave of sacred geometry and spiritual significance—the lives of Nike and Harry intertwining are made more tangible by this exchange.”

 

Passing over a sword that idly sat by for majority of the ceremony, the Priestess said, “Harry, if it is truly your desire to be united as one with this Lady, then present her with a token of your love.”

 

Harry bent his knee and presented the sword.

 

“Lady Nike, you are the most gracious and lovely woman that Harry has ever seen, for he understands the essence of your true self and loves you wholly for it,” The Priestess stated. “He knows that your outer beauty is matched by the beauty that radiates from within you. As he pledges this sword, he pledges his soul to you. It is his prowess, his fire, his passion, his strength and courage, his ability to protect, defend, and care for you. With the strength of his blade and the endurance of its steel to represent that which is in his heart, take from him now, as his beloved, the ring that rests upon it, and choose him to be your own.”

 

Nike took the ring from the sword and said, “I accept the pledge of your blade and eternal promise that this wedding band represents.” She then took the sword from Harry and gently placed the blade on his left shoulder; then his right one; and the top of his head, as if she were a queen bestowing his knighthood.

 

As she “knighted” him, Nike recited after the Priestess. “For the boy you were, for the man you have become, and the husband you shall be to me, I choose you to be my own.” She gave the sword back to Harry and said, “If you will place this ring upon my finger, I shall from this day forth, 'til beyond the end of time, take you to be my own.” She opened her hand and presented him a wedding ring, which he took from her and placed it on her bare finger.

 

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Harry said softly, almost like a prayer. “I take you as my lover, my friend, my wife from this day forth and into the fullness of time, where we will meet and remember and love again.”

 

“Lady Nike, if it is truly your desire to be united as one with this man, then present him with a token of your love.”

 

Nike bowed before Harry and gave to him a chalice with a ring inside.

 

“Harry, in the eyes of this woman, you are the most handsome and captivating suitor in all the world. Yours is the voice of reassurance and unwavering support. You are he who sparks the fires of her passion and yours are the arms within which she would lay herself down to love and rest. The pledge of her chalice is the pledge of all that is within her, her tenderness and devotion. The place in her heart where two souls can be sheltered and nourished, that they may grow together ever closer, and flourish as leaves on trees and the fruit of the vine, is a sanctuary that belongs to you. As the depth and bounty of her chalice foretell the richness of your future together, take from her now the band that lies within it, and choose her as your own.”

 

Harry did as instructed and took the ring from inside the chalice. “I accept the pledge of your chalice and the promise of this wedding band.” Making a toasting gesture, Harry returned the chalice to Nike. “If you place this ring upon my finger, I shall from this day forth, 'til beyond the end of time, take you to be my own.”

 

He opened his hand, and Nike took the ring. When she placed it upon his finger she felt tears stinging her eyes. She still couldn’t believe that this moment was real. “With this ring, I thee wed. I take you as my lover, my friend, my husband from this day forth and into the fullness of time, where we will meet and remember and love again.”

 

A delicious shiver ran down their spines as the last ring sealed their binding further, like a bolt of lightning. Thin, cracked lips curved into a wide grin and equally wide eyes glowed, crinkling at the edges. 

 

“Bring forth the cake and ale,” The Priestess commanded, and two of her mentors ushered forward with a plate and a cup. “As we witness the union of Nike and Harry, they have chosen to partake in the age-old tradition of cakes and ale—a feast of celebration, of receiving nurturance from Mother Earth and the pleasure she has to offer.”

 

“Drink now of one another's love,” the Priestess said to Nike and Harry. “A  love that will quench the thirst in your hearts, minds, and bodies, remembering that each of you possesses gifts and qualities that can nourish and sustain the other in times of need. Let this be a reminder of the wellspring of love that flows for each of you if you so much as remember to indulge in your love of one another, and often. As food and drink sustain the body, so does love sustain each of you. Feed now one another, sharing in the nurturance that joy and love have to offer.”

 

Doing what was required of them, Nike and Harry shared the cake and ale; both laughing when their nervous hands made some of the icicing miss their mouths.

 

“Is it also your wish that your hands be fasted in accordance with the old ways?” 

 

Handfasting, an old pagan tradition that was no longer used in today’s marriage bonding because the magic used went deeper than any unbreakable vow ever could, was actually Harry’s idea to include much to Nike’s surprise, but she had agreed excitedly nonetheless. It was sweet that he was willing to incorporate her upbringings and traditions.

 

“It is,” they said in perfect unison.

 

“Each cord in the handfasting rite represents a different aspect of marriage, of promises made to one another to unify your intentions and merge your energies as husband and wife. I invite you to join hands, and to look into one another's eyes, as these intentions become unity vows this day.”

 

Harry and Nike did as they were instructed. As soon as their hands were intertwined, a lace ribbon tied their hands together by the binds of magic. The Priestess continued on.

 

“Harry, will you cause Nike pain?”

 

“I may,” he answered truthfully.

 

“Is that your intent?”

 

“No.”

 

“Nike, will you cause Harry pain?”

 

“I may,” she answered just as truthfully.

 

“Is that your intent?”

 

“No.”

 

The Priestess addressed them both. “Will you hold space for the expression of each other's pain and seek to ease it?”

 

“Yes,” they said at the same time.

 

“And so the first binding is made.” The first chord of lace was draped across the bride and groom’s hands. “Nike, will you share in his laughter?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Harry, will you share in her laughter?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Will you both seek to see the goodness and Light in life, and in each other?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And so the second binding is made.” The second chord was draped across the couple’s hands. “Will you burden her, Harry?”

 

“I may,” he answered.

 

“Is that your intent?”

 

“No.”

 

“Nike, will you burden Harry?”

 

“I may.”

 

“Is that your intent?”

 

“No.”

 

“Will you seek to ease each other's burdens to the best of your ability, fostering an atmosphere of love and support between your spirits in this union?”

 

“Yes,” they said together.

 

“And so the third binding is made.” The third lace chord was draped across their hands. “Harry, will you share her dreams?”

 

Harry couldn’t help the goofy smile on his face. “Yes.”

 

“Nike, will you share his dreams?”

 

“Yes.” There was no use fighting off her own smile.

 

“Will you dream together to bring more of your innate goodness and potentials to life, elevating this union to new levels of depth and fulfillment?”

 

“Yes,” they said.

 

“And so the fourth binding is made.” The chord was draped across their hands. “Harry, will you cause her anger?”

 

“I may.”

 

“Is that your intent?”

 

“No.”

 

“Nike, will you cause him anger?”

 

“I may.” Her heart began to constrict out of guilt. She knew that, by extension of being related to Bellatrix and the Malfoy family, that she would be the main reason for his anger. No, she told herself—forced herself to remember; Harry had told her time and time again that no one was lucky enough to choose their birth family. Their mistakes and actions did not belong to Nike, nor did they define her. She controlled her own destiny, just like Harry.

 

“Is that your intent?”

 

What a silly question to ask. “No.” She promised herself, and Harry. Never.

 

Out of nowhere, tears began to sting her eyes. She shook her head, forcing the tears away. The Priestess ignored the emotions that began to crack Nike’s neutral set face, but Harry stared intently at her. 

 

“Will you take the heat of anger and frustration and use it to strengthen the heart of this union?”

 

“Yes,” they both said. Always, was the silent promise between them.

 

“And so the fifth binding is made.” The magic chord draped it across their hands again, one step closer to binding them together, forever. 

 

“Will you honor her?” The High Priestess asked Harry.

 

“I will.”

 

“And will you honor him?” The Priestess asked Nike.

 

“I will.”

 

“Will you always seek to uphold that honor in your hearts?”

 

“Yes,” they said oh, so softly. They held their breath and watched on with fascination as the chord began to glow a tawny gold with reflects of silver shining brightly.

 

“And so the sixth binding is made.” As the final chord draped across their hands, both of them felt a slight burning sensation. It was nothing unbearable, more like a brush against hot water. Nike smiled at the small symbol etched onto the back of their hands. The  triquetra—representing their mind, body and soul; past, present and future; life, death and rebirth;  Maiden, Mother and Crone;  creation, preservation and destruction; thought, feeling and emotion; earth, air and water; thought, feeling and emotion. But, most importantly, their eternity and equality. “ _ _ So as your hands have been fasted today in these promises, may the core tenants of your union remain strong throughout the passing of time. As life's changes ebb and flow through your lives, may you hold fast to one another with a love that is unwavering, eternal, and true.”

 

They stared into each other’s eyes; green meeting grey. A sense of peace washed over them, and the Priestess continued, moving onto the final, sealing process of the ceremony. “May the blessings of all of Creation be upon your life together; may you bask in the sunshine of the love that radiates from each other's hearts. May you always find comfort in the little things, from the rustling of autumn leaves to green grass below bare feet, from the hearth fires that burn in winter to the first tender buds that burst into life at spring. May the love of family and friends sustain you through hard times, and celebrate alongside each of you in good times. And may you always know the miracle that is this Love you share—a love that transcends time and enriches all who cross your path, making the world all the more magical because of the synergy of your partnership.”

 

Then, finally— _ “Harry, you may now kiss the bride!” _

 

Without warning of what he planned to do, Harry grabbed Nike by the waist and kissed her so passionately right in of all their guests. She was taken off guard, but she let him take control of the situation because he was normally the dominant kisser. She just melted right into him.    
  
Somehow, Harry managed to unclip her hair and one arm was holding her tight around her waist and the other was caressing her hair, and Nike simply got lost in the fabric of time. He was a bit taller than she was and her head was tilted slightly back. It seemed like eternity and infinity stood still at that moment.   
  
It was ecstasy to say the least, and  _ something _ sparked between them. The warmth of Harry’s mouth sent a current running through Nike’s body. She threw her arms around his neck as she lost herself in his peppermint, chocolate breath and soft lips. 

 

And just like that, the kiss was over. The two of them pulled back from each other and they suddenly became aware of their surroundings when someone, most likely Remus or Ron, cleared their throats. Laughter bubbled in Nike’s throat and Harry felt the vibrations of her silent joy against his lips. He smiled down at her and winked just for her to see.

 

“ Friends and loved ones, it is an honor for me to present to you—for the first time—Mr. and Mrs. Harry and Nike Black-Potter, joined in law and in love.”

 

* * *

 

**Information/Credits/Disclaimers:**

 

—All characters and events belong to J. K. Rowling and to the publisher(s) Bloomsbury Publishing (UK), Scholastic (US), and Pottermore (e-books; all languages). Events from the movie(s) belong to the production and distribution companies.

 

—The Casting of the Circle was inspired by ‘How to Cast a Circle for a Pagan Ritual’ by Patti Wigington. 

 

—The wedding ceremony was inspired by ‘Pagan Wedding Ceremonies’ by Stellar Weddings.

 

—Triquetra means “triangle” or “three” (tri-) “cornered” (Quetrus). It is made up of three intersecting vesica Pisces. The Vesica Pisces is the shape created by the intersection of two congruent circles. A triquetra symbol is sometimes interlaced with a circle. An ancient Celtic symbol, the triquetra is considered one of the oldest; dating back to as early as 500 BC when it was used to symbolize the triple goddess (maiden-mother-crone). Over the centuries it has become the symbol for the Holy Trinity among Christians in Ireland. The symbol is often used to represent the 3 fundamental elements–air, water, and earth or the infinite cycle of life. It is also known as a rune of protection.

 

—This chapter was not overlooked by a beta.

 

—If there is ever any error within my story pertaining to the Pagan religions and ceremonies then please let me know. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Adolescence**

**/ad-l-es-uh ns/**

 

**Noun**

 

_ Since I was a kid I was taught to have both feet on the ground. They never told me about my brutality, the way I stepped on it just to keep my mind. I was surprised when it treated me with contempt, it turned my world upside down, sweet revenge, they never told me we all live by rules and it is an eye for an eye. _

 

_ Since I was a kid no one told me that adulthood goes with blood, that it’s the partner that drags you into brutal dance while all you can feel are your broken legs. They always told me to watch out and not to fall. But now when my responsibilities are demolished, and tears became my permanent tattoo there is no one to call. _

 

_ Since I was a kid I lived in castles of dreams. I wanted to be the heroine, taste like glory blooming on laurel wreaths. But no one ever told me that you can destroy things with lies. And that your mouth is too tired for saving worlds, for saving us. _

 

**—Keaton St. James**

  
  


**Chapter 2:**

 

_ Early Spring, 1986 _

_ Highgate Cemetery in North London, England _

  
Nike had been six-years-old when she saw her first dead body.   
  
It had been her grandmother (and third cousin once removed if anyone cared to know), Walburga Black. The late Mistress of Grimmauld Place hadn’t been very old—the woman had only been sixty—but had aged unnaturally. Walburga had been an enthusiastic supporter of pure-blood supremacy. Her prejudice against those she considered inferior, especially “mud-bloods” and “blood traitors”, survived her death through means of her granddaughter, and in the form of a vitriolic portrait hanging all by its lonesome in Grimmauld Place with only the house elf to keep it company.   
  
Everyone came to the funeral.

 

Even Nike’s Great-Grandfather Arcturus Black, who never left his manor for anything, showed up. Ever since the death of his wife, Arcturus had refused to leave his home and that had been fifty-six years ago. And throughout that half a century many more family members had died—like his son Orion and grandson Regulus—but Arcturus never came to pay his respects. So it was quite odd that he would make an appearance at his daughter-in-law's funeral. 

 

The Black family and those who were considered through the default of marriage took their seats in the front. As one of the youngest attendants, Nike was placed between her cousin Narcissa and her husband Lucius. Nike tried not to squirm in the uncomfortable chair, but she found herself readjusting how she was sitting a few times before she could sit properly. And to top it all off, the chairs had been doused in Walburga's favorite color of red. A blood stained red. 

 

The atmosphere not only looked gloomy, but it felt gloomy, too, even for a child as young as Nike. Everywhere she looked there were no smiles. It reminded her exactly how she had been raised by her grandmother....depressing. 

 

But there was nothing to really complain about. It was a sunny day with the birds chirping and flowers blooming as the last bit of winter's frost started to melt away. Her grandmother would have used the day to go to the local markets to prepare for Ostara. 

 

Besides, all her book club members, old classmates and family members, who could make it, came to the funeral, and were making the air a little too stuffy. Nike's grandmother had been popular in that way. For reasons she would never understand. 

 

The official ceremony hadn't started yet. People were chatting amongst themselves, talking about anything other than the woman who they were about to bury. Nike cancelled out the noise from all around her and took notice to something right in front of her—the casket sitting only a few feet away.    
  
It was an open casket.    
  
Apparently Walburga had wanted to grace the world with her presence one last time before she would be gone forever. Nike had no desire to see her grandmother ever again, considering that she had never seen a dead body before.    
  
But as Narcissa began to guide Nike towards the casket, the young girl had no choice but to look at what was inside of it.    
  
Walburga had died crumpled over in a sitting position. She was fair skinned with dark black hair so the livor mortis was shocking. The right side on her face, the side that she had fallen on, was a blotchy red-maroon. Her hair was pinned back in the style she always had it in; falling in perfect waves as the curls lost their age old bounce and vitality. Nike had always loved her grandmother's dark hair with specks of salt and pepper. She was always running her fingers through Walburga's hair whenever the older woman would tell her a story. They had already done her autopsy, but one could easily tell what Walburga had died from. The woman  _ had _ aged unnaturally.   
  
Nike touched her grandmother's hand, half expecting the woman to open her eyes as she would've done from being disturbed from her sleep. Those dark eyes remained shut, though. Her body was colder than ice.     
  
Walburga didn't look like she was sleeping. She didn't look like herself at all. It was like Nike was looking at someone who could have been related to her, but certainly not like her.     
  
And true to the ceremony, her grandmother was wrapped in the finest cloth that galleons could buy.   
  
It took Nike was second to realize that she was standing in the Circle. An area cleared of all furniture with candles placed at the north, south, east and west walls. There were two more candles placed at either side of the altar, where the body was laid out.   
  
The Priestess, who was dressed in green and accompanied by the Priest cladded in black, led everyone through the motions as she swept the Circle counter-clockwise. The Circle represented a protected and sacred place. Everyone who gathered in it were seen as equals, not a single person was set apart or above others.   
  
After the ritual sweeping, the Priestess returned a broom to the altar, where she exchanged it for a sword. “This is a place which is not a place, in a time which is not a time, halfway between the worlds of the gods, and of mortals.” She swiped the sword at the Circle counter-clockwise.   
  
A ritual poem was read for each direction, starting with the west and ending with the south. The Priest and Priestess exchanged a ritual quote amongst each other as they declared the presence of the gods in the Circle, and recognized the importance of both man and woman.   
  
The Priestess then turned to Walburga’s body with the intent to recognize that while bodies were fickle, souls were everlasting, and recited a number of prayers to the deceased.   
  
"You are dead. None should ever die alone. I am here to help you with your death. There is only love, the greatest Mystery. I reach behind my fear. I open my heart and my eyes in the light of this love. Our lives are formed of many others and we form other lives in turn. And when we are here with you after you die we honor your life. There is only love. The love of the Goddess gives birth to the universe. The love of our parents gives birth to us. The love of our friends and family sustains our life. Kindness, love, and pleasure—we are formed from these and we form each other. When we die we leave them behind us.

  
"You have left your family. You have left sex, and even gender. You cannot be a woman or a man and enter the other world. You have left behind your body. None who have bodies can pass into the other world. The Goddess is taking you back now, the Great Mother. Her womb is the Earth that will receive your body, your body is a seed now, a seed of other lives. In a sacred space we have gathered to honor you and to give you some things to take on the journey with you."  
  
The Priest addressed the Circle. "Please, come up now if you can and speak to your dead. Tell her whatever you need to. Help in the journey into death." He then addressed the departed again. "I will remember you at Samhain and bless you then."  
  
Narcissa left Nike in the care of Lucius as she stepped forward to the main altar and said her last goodbyes to her aunt.  
  
During her life, Walburga had been fond of zapping faces off of the Black Family tapestry. It was an ancient family relic created sometime in the 13th century. From the immensely old and faded tapestry, Nike had learned of her family’s ancestry.  
  
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was one of the largest, oldest, and wealthiest pure-blooded wizarding families in all of Britain, and part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. That was something to take pride in, or so Walburga had constantly inquired to her granddaughter. The family’s motto, Toujours Pur (which means “Always Pure” in French), was taken very seriously by many members.  
  
Nike had been lucky enough to be born of pure decent. Through the blood of her deceased mother, Nike could trace her maternal ancestry to the wizard Alpin, father of Cináed mac Ailpín. That meant she was part of the Sìol Ailpein, which was Gaelic for “Seed of Alpin”; and that meant she was also apart of one of the seven Scottish wizarding clans who could trace their lineage back to the King of the Picts, of whom her ancestors and muggles, too, hailed as the first King of Scots who was actually a wizard.  
  
Walburga had no qualms of reminding Nike that she was the “flesh of the abomination”, created by two blood traitors. But the woman had taken in her illegitimate granddaughter for two reasons: So the Black legacy could live on for another generation, and simply out of spite towards her eldest son. She had hoped that someone told him. The thought alone of his facial expression was something that had amused Walburga for the passed six years.  
  
And like the eyes in the back of her head that allowed her to see all, Walburga knew that she had been dying. Nike had spent the last two months leading up to her grandmother’s death either at Gringotts while Walburga prepared her will, or holed up in Grimmauld Place when the elderly woman had been too ill to move. They never stepped foot in St Mungo’s Hospital, though. There was no use for a healer. Walburga had declared that she had been ready to die for some time now; seeing no purpose to live without her husband, and most importantly, her favorite son—both of whom she had lost in the same year.  
  
Nike didn’t take her grandmother’s words to heart. She knew better than to do that because, in all honesty, Walburga hadn’t loved Nike, and the feeling was mutual. There was a certain level of respect she had for her grandmother, but Nike certainly lacked the possession to feel an inkling of empathy towards her grandmother. And she was so thankful that she was considered too young to speak at the funeral.  
  
And as others stepped forward to pay their respects, Nike started to quietly chant—"We all come from the Goddess and to Her we shall return like a drop of rain falling to the ocean. We all come from the Horned One and through Him we are reborn corn and grain, corn and grain all that falls shall rise again.”—with everyone else who decided to stay back.   
  
Narcissa stayed at the altar the longest, her lips moving rapidly. She glanced back at Nike and then back at the altar that housed the dead body. Narcissa said one last goodbye to her aunt before she returned to Nike's side and held onto the young girl's hand a little too tightly. But the wide, grey eyed girl didn't say anything. It wasn't the time or the place to be bratty, but she doubted that Narcissa would've actually let go. Her older cousin had her glued to her side since last week when the Ministry workers had dropped her off at Malfoy Manor.   
  
"Journey on now, sister. We will follow when we can." The Priestess continued on once everyone had moved from the alter. "May you be born again at the same time and in the same place as those you knew and loved in this life. May you know them again and love them again."  
  
The Priestess then moved behind the altar. "As we all come from the Goddess to experience life; in death so shall we return to Her to experience peace." She lit the altar candles, including the white pillar candle. While holding aloft the special white pillar candle, she said, "Walburga, By the element of Earth, you were grounded in the physical world. By the element of Air, you were open to knowledge and communication. By the element of Fire, you were inspired with passion. By the element of Water, you could dream your dreams. So now, by Earth, by Air, by Fire, by Water….shall you pass to the next stage of your existence."  
  
The white candle was returned to the altar and the world's shortest eulogy began. There weren't many words to describe Walburga, and those that could weren't so appropriate for a funeral. Nike hardly paid attention to what was being said about her grandmother, though. She just wanted it all to be over with. She knew what death was and that everything would one day finally die, too, but she didn't understand the concept of it. Narcissa had told her that it was the way of life; a never ending cycle that balanced the world. Because if nothing ever died then there would be one hell of a population problem, but Nike still didn't fully understand why. To the young child, those who were family seemed immortal through her eyes. She had thought that her grandmother would always be there, and the same went for Narcissa, but Nike was shocked to find out that she was terribly wrong. And she now knew that like Walburga, Narcissa would one day be in the same position.   
  
It suddenly crossed Nike's mind that she would be there, too, one day. A powerful shiver ran up her spine at the gruesome thought.   
  
The ushers came around and gave them all food and drink. Each person took a drink and poured some into the grave; ate something and placed half of it in the grave. "East: We welcome the spirits of the ancestors and the honored dead not yet reborn. South: We welcome our heroes and inspiration. West: We welcome the Ancestors to incarnate in our children and grandchildren and in our families. North: We welcome our deaths and our lives.”   
  
Nike watched on as the body was gently lowered into the grave.The Priestess and Priest blessed the food and drink. "It is not we that bless this food and drink but it which blesses us. In its nature it nourishes our bodies and in sharing food and drink we create community."

The Priestess took her place back at the altar and raised the white pillar candle before the assembled group. "Walburga, merry we meet, and merry we part, until we merry meet again."   
  
And then, before Nike could even understand what was happening next, Walburga's wrapped body was lit aflame with a fierce inferno that wouldn't stop until it consumed every inch of flesh and bone.    
  
She found herself being led out of the Circle as one pillar candle was left to burn with the body.    
  
Nike's eyes were transfixed on the fire. Smouldering, the fire licked the bottom of the wooden casket like a hungry kitten with a bowl full of milk. Crackling playfully, almost genteelly at first, the fire flickered, flared, leapt, spat, and showered the surrounding area with sparks like a fountain. Plumes of black-grey smoke wound itself around the casket like a hungry serpent, devouring everything in its path, choking clouds of noxious smoke, blazing, out of control. Ashes floated to the ground like great dirty flakes of snow, showering onto everything, sprinkling onto the ground.   
  
Even though they were far away from the danger, Nike could still feel the heat licking at her skin and she could feel the smoke slowly choking her. She hadn't realized how long she had been staring at her grandmother's burning body until fabrics of green and black blocked her view.    
  
Craning her neck to see who it was, Nike found herself staring into the Priestess's stark green eyes. Her hair, which was pulled back from her round face, was an odd shade of orange.    
  
"Merry meet, little one." Her voice was still husky, but not as loud. In fact, she had a deep voice for a woman.    
  
Narcissa squeezed Nike's hand. "Merry meet, Priestess." It was never wise to anger a Priest or Priestess. They were the only ones who could properly guide someone into the afterlife and if they refused to be the voice that helped carry spirits to their final resting place then you would spend the rest of eternity as ghost; never to be able to find peace.    
  
The woman didn't bend down to Nike's height even though the young girl had to strain her neck to keep eye contact with her, but she did hand Nike a familiar white pillar candle. "Your grandmother would like for you to have it."   
  
It was customary at the end of the ceremony for someone to inherit the candle, and that right usually went to the deceased’s closest relative, spouse, or partner.   
  
"Thank you," Nike said softly as she stared at the candle. She hadn't expected her grandmother to bestow that honor to her.    
  
“She wanted you to remember you're place.” Though the Priestess didn't smile, her eyes shined like expensive jewels. "Merry meet, little one."   
  
"Merry meet," Nike said as the woman began to walk away. She turned her grey eyes to her cousin. "Are we going home now, Cissy?"   
  
"We have to hear the reading of the will," Narcissa reminded her. "And then we will be going home.” 

 

"How come Draco and Pixie didn't come?"

 

"Because they didn't know Aunt Walburga like you did."    
  
And it was the truth. Even though Nike was close with her cousins, they knew nothing of their Great Aunt Walburga. It had been Narcissa's choice to keep it that way. Walburga hadn't been the kindest soul, and Narcissa refused to have her son and niece subjected to the old woman's harshness. Sadly, there had been nothing she could do for Nike.    
  
"Oh," the young girl said. She turned her face upwards and squinted at the sun. "Do we have to hear the will?"   
  
This time it was Lucius who answered her. "Yes, this is a very important part."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because you'll find out if your grandmother left you anything."   
  
Nike pouted. "I just want to go home."   
  
Narcissa saw Lucius's hand twitch to tap the back of her head, and she threw her husband a glare over her little cousin's head. It was a habit that he had picked up from reprimanding Draco for a simple eye roll or back talk, but it wouldn't have been acceptable for him to do so to Nike. The last thing Narcissa wanted was for her husband to be on the receiving end of her family's irate.   
  
"Just a few more minutes," Narcissa promised.   
  
Nike didn't say anything else as she allowed her cousin to pull her towards the group that started to gather around the goblin holding a single sheet of parchment paper. It was almost eerie at how similar everyone looked. Dark hair, curls, and grey eyes were everywhere. There were only a few people who stood out from the masses—like Narcissa—due to their different hair coloring and texture, but the facial features were uncanny. The Black gene was truly dominate, and everyone possessed some type of similarity to prove that they were apart of the family.    
  
"Mistress Black's last words are very quite simple," the goblin said. His long fingernails caressed the edges of the paper. "It goes as followed—I, Walburga Irma Black, residing at 12 Grimmauld Place, any town, any state, declare this to be my Will, and I revoke any and all wills and codicils I previously made. I direct my executors to pay any enforceable debts and funeral expenses, and the expenses of administering my estate. I give all my tangible personal property and all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property to granddaughter and future heiress, Nike Regulus Black. If she does not survive me, I give that property to those of my nieces, Narcissa Malfoy née Black and Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, or to my sister-in-law/second cousin, Lucretia Prewett née Black, who survive me, in equal shares to be divided among them by my executors in their absolute discretion after consultation with my nieces and sister-in-law. My executors may pay out of my estate the expenses of delivering….”

 

Walburga’s last words actually weren't quite that simple, and Nike had grown tired of hearing her own name being repeated a hundred times—or, at least, that's how many times she thought she had heard her name. 

 

In the end, Nike had inherited it all. Walburga had given her her residence, and mortgages or encumbrances thereon, and all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property, too. It would then go to Great Aunt Lucretia if anything were to happen to her. The rest of the estates were given to Nike. Walburga issued that her executors were to pay all estate, inheritance and succession taxes payable by reason of her death.

 

“If under this will any property shall be payable outright to a person who is a minor, my executors may, without court approval, pay all or part of such property to a parent or guardian of that minor, to a custodian under the Magical Uniform Transfers to Minors act, or may defer payment of such property until the minor reaches the age of majority, as defined by his or her state of residence. No bond shall be required for such payments.”

 

Walburga had appointed Nike as Executor of the will, and since she was unable to act, Walburga had appointed Great Aunt Lucretia and Narcissa as successor co-executors. 

 

“If my granddaughter and I shall die under such circumstances that the order of our deaths cannot be readily ascertained, my granddaughter shall be deemed to have predeceased me. No person, other than my granddaughter, shall be deemed to have survived me if such person dies within 30 days after my death. This article modifies all provisions of this will accordingly. If I leave minor children surviving me, I appoint as guardian of the person and property of my minor children my father-in-law/first-cousin-once-removed Arcturus Black III. He shall have custody of my minor children, and shall serve without bond. If he does not qualify or for any reason ceases to serve as guardian, I appoint as successor guardian my sister-in-law/second cousin Lucretia Prewett née Black.”

 

Nike's eyes widened and shot towards the skeletal-like man who stood only a few feet away. Great Grandfather Arcturus was a mummy. His skin looked like it could've been leather; yellow-brown, hard and smooth. Almost shiny, which was odd considering he didn't get nearly as much sunlight as one should. And skin was all there was to him, just a leathery frame stretched over bones. He didn't have any hair. His eye sockets were hard, dark holes with dry tissues. His nose appeared to have collapsed.

 

She looked up at Narcissa, and whispered, "Why am I going to live with him?" It didn't make any sense. Even though her great grandfather had outlived his own father and mother, brother, sister, son, second grandson and now his daughter-in-law, there was no guarantee that he would be around to care for Nike. The man was getting closer to ninety every year and he certainly was showing it.    
  
"Because," Narcissa said with a loud, obviously displeased exhale. "It was what your grandmother wanted."   
  


* * *

 

_ Several Months Later, Fall, 1986 _

_ The Outskirts of Greater Manchester, England _ __   
  


Nike stared up at the twinkling, brilliant lights above her. She loved staring at the stars, and made a game of finding the constellations that many of her family members were named after. For the last two hours she had been keeping herself occupied by playing her game and looking at the half moon. In her world, no one made it a habit to wish upon the stars, but Nike was obsessed with them because the lights above had always been a comfort to her, even in her most darkest of times. As Nike looked on that night, a single hopeful thought came to mind. It was almost a wish.   
  
Nike had to admit that she wasn't off to a good start. The night air was quiet; not a single person was in sight. She was tired and nervous and very hungry.   
  
She turned to look at Narcissa.    
  
"Where is he?"   
  
"I don't know," Narcissa said in her most authoritatively gentle voice. "Be patient."   
  
"Maybe we should floo in."   
  
"Absolutely not," Lucius said haughtily. "Remember what we discussed."   
  
"He's probably forgotten I'm coming," Nike said. "I told you he was going senile."   
  
"Do not say things like that. It is not polite," Narcissa said, still gentle, but through her teeth.   
  
Narcissa was always gentle if she could manage it. Being a mother to a young boy, and a guardian to a little girl tested her patience, but she somehow always managed to be poised and docile.   
  
For only being six (almost seven) years old, Nike possessed sterling silver-grey, hawk like eyes, and was never gentle. With a mass of ink black curls that clustered over her head and cascaded down her back unruly, people usually said that she looked serene, like a babydoll. But she almost never felt that way. Usually she was either madly anxious or unsettlingly stoic for a child her age.   
  
Right now it was an odd mixture of both. She was worried about how she and her new guardian were going to coexist. But, on the other hand, she didn't care if they were fit to take her in or not. Maybe their tardiness would allow her to go back home with Narcissa.   
  
"Why don't we just go home and tell the Ministry that he never showed?"   
  
The couple looked back at the young girl. There wasn't many things Narcissa and Lucius actually agreed upon, but Nike wasn't one of those things. She could see that they were taking what she said into consideration.   
  
"No," Lucius said finally. "We will continue to wait."   
  
Narcissa brushed some of Nike's wild locks out of her face. "You'll be just fine. What are you so nervous about?"   
  
Nike cleared her thoughts and stared at Narcissa artlessly.    
  
They looked at each other for a moment, but Narcissa gave up and turned away with a sigh.   
  
"We may have to walk," Lucius said to his wife.   
  


“I guess there are worse things than walking,” Narcissa mused. She pushed the stray wisp of light blonde hair out of her face and looked around at their surroundings. The nearest non-muggle neighbor was now a good four miles away, and Great Grandfather Arcturus’s manor was well hidden behind the Disillusionment Charm  _ and  _ Invisibility Spell. “I wish the Knight Bus came out this far.”

 

“Well, it won't. And it's at least another ten miles to the manor,” said Nike, grey eyes glinting with a kind of grim enjoyment.

 

“What if we were to apparate?” Lucius asked, ignoring the child.

 

Narcissa tilted her head, considering. “We should be able to get close enough. We would have to leave the bags, though. Great Uncle Arcturus does suffer from paranoia. He'll only trust the head elf to do a thorough checking.”

 

Alarm sounded through Nike. “No,  _ no _ . I've got all my….all my clothes in there. And my books! Cissy, why don't we just go home?” Tiny fingers formed a fist around the luggage handle, ready to bolt down the road before she felt a strong hand root her back in place. The adults weren't amused; Lucius scowling down at her, Narcissa sighing impatiently now, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

 

Nike didn't understand why they just wouldn't listen to her. The one lane dirt road was dark and deserted. Home was not. It wasn't exactly eerily quiet—a dozen tiny night sounds all harmonized together to grate on her never ending nerves. It actually would have been pleasant, except Nike's anxiousness seemed to grow with each passing second, and she was starting to feel her stomach eat itself. She knew better than to mention it to Narcissa, but it made her feel sick and weak.

 

Just when she was beginning to squirm under Lucius’s still too strong hand to try to run again, she heard a new sound. 

 

It was a loud crack, coming from in front them. It was so loud that Nike swore her eardrums were ringing. It was the tale tell sign of apparition, though. Two, maybe three feet tall creatures hobbled towards them.

 

Nike looked at them curiously.

 

They seemed old, yet still strong enough to carry a tea tray. The one was pale grey with rat like black eyes. The other one was brown. It's soft blue eyes were as wide as saucers and bulging out of its head.

 

“Lord and Lady Malfoy,” both elves mumbled with a bow. They turned to Narcissa and did the same.

 

Then they focused on Nike. They flinched as they glanced at her. “Young Mistress Black.” The pale grey one spoke up. “Snicket and Lemony is sorry for your lost. We is very sorry.”

 

Nike simply grimaced. House elves didn't completely understand how it felt to lose someone who wasn't important to you. 

 

“Snicket and Lemony is here to take you to Master Black.”

 

Lemony was shaking. “Master Black not forget you. Oh, no, Master is preparing for you.”

 

Nike looked at Narcissa and Lucius. The latter said nothing, looking at the elves with a sneer. Narcissa’s dark eyes were hard. 

 

“Well, on with it,” she snapped, commanding. “Two hours is long enough.”

 

Lemony shrunk back at Narcissa’s harsh tone. Snicket just grumbled and shoved his boney body between Narcissa and Lucius. They disappeared with a loud crack, and Lemony, who took Nike's hand, quickly followed. 

 

Twisted and pulled; stretched and squashed, Nike tightened her hold on boney fingers, daring not to let go. She had heard the story of The Boy Who Let Go. An old story that told the death of a young Greek wizard, Aesop. The tale talked about the young boy and how he repeatedly let go of his parent's hands when they would apparate. He would play naughty tricks, pretending to be hurt afterwards. When he truly splinched himself nobody, not even the boy's parents, believed him. Thinking it was another false alarm, Aesop lost multiple limbs. In the tales Nike’s grandmother use to read to her, the boy also ended up dying. 

 

Nike didn't know if the story was true or not, but it taught an important lesson to the young: Apparition was dangerous, deadly, and not to be used for fun.

 

Suddenly, with a heaving stomach, Nike touched solid ground. Was apparition always so unpleasant? She wondered. Narcissa came to her aid as she tried to gain her balance back. After a moment, Nike looked around. The first thing she noticed was the smell; musty, like a house that had been long abandoned. Only, it wasn't. But it was still dim and uninviting. The furniture was dusty and old, looking as if it would crumble if anyone touched it. Mould was growing on the floor and walls, and cobwebs laced the shut in windows and the lively portraits of self-righteous ancestors who once lived in the manor, all staring at Nike. The floor creaked and two more elves stood before them. 

 

“I is Thing,” the pure white one said. “Head elf.”

 

“Fick,” the overly hunched one grunted.

 

“Where is your Master?” Narcissa asked. “We've been waiting.”

 

“Who are  _ you  _ to the future head of our house?” An elf hadn't asked the question. A portrait did. The elves averted their eyes, and Nike blinked at the face that bore a strong resemblance to her other Great Grandfather, Pollux Black, who was currently suffering with Dragon Poxs at St Mungo. 

 

“I am her fourth cousin,” Narcissa said respectively.

 

“Why, back in my lifetime, my  _ fifth  _ cousins and I could have passed for siblings.” With a green hat painted on top of his head, the portrait asserted them with steel eyes. “You look nothing alike.”

 

“Everyone says that.” And Nike meant everyone. Even those who knew they were related. She glanced at the plaque beneath the portrait. “It is a honor to meet you, Lord Licorus Black.”

 

Nike’s five times great grandfather, and earliest known member of House Black, lifted a brow. “Ah, least you have manners. The last future head was a disgrace; or so Arcturus said. An utter disgrace to my grandson’s namesake. Hopefully you won't be a disappointment like him.”

 

“I'm nothing like my father,” Nike said absently. But it was her eyes that sparked with a light of madness before they dimmed back out to her hallow nothingness of grey. 

 

Walburga had made sure that nothing about the young girl (except Nike's physical appearance, which couldn't be helped) would bare even the slightest resemblance to her traitorous son. It started three years ago, when Nike was three, and she refused to learn how to play the piano. Refusal and disobedience was something Walburga had never tolerated. Hex after hex was thrown her way, all stinging like a pack of hornets were piercing her skin. A month before Walburga had died, Nike had been sitting at her desk, writing with a quill in her hand—which wasn't anything bad, but when Narcissa had seen how messy her handwriting was, she fussed and brought the attention of Walburga down on the young girl. Walburga had been embarrassed and enraged, recalling how her son once had terrible handwriting, too. But unlike Nike, who had been subjected to multiple hexes and curses afterwards, her son hadn't wanted to learn how to properly write like a true heir should. Walburga had made it her life's work to ensure that not a trace of Sirius Orion Black III could be found in his own flesh and blood daughter. 

 

“ _ Of course  _ you're not,” Narcissa said approvingly through her teeth. To Licorus she said, “We were waiting for Great Uncle Arcturus to collect Nike at our agreed meeting spot, but he never showed up.”

 

“Nike, you say?” Licorus said, painted eyes still on her. “After the Greek goddess?”

 

Nike nodded her head. She stared around at the other portraits who were doing the same. They were just as curious about her.

 

She just felt slightly….uneasy. She sensed something. Even though Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather Licorus seemed cordial enough and not as intimidating as she thought he'd be, there was just something about the house she couldn't put her finger on. But she was too tired—too lightheaded from not eating for so many hours—to be concerned about it now.

 

They seemed to stand there, under Licorus’s painted gaze, when another portrait spoke up.

 

“Have you eaten anything, child?”

 

Nike blinked and murmured a negative. 

 

“That will not do,” the portrait of Magenta Black (née Tripe) said. She commanded Lemony to fetch Nike some food before she continued on her rant. “A young child such as yourself needs to be on a strict schedule and diet. Poor nutrition is what killed my father, you know? He loved his sweets and never ate a healthy full course meal. So this certainly will not do.”

 

Her tone was matter of fact, and Nike could only imagine what a hurricane the woman had been when she was alive.

 

“Genta, dear,” Licorus cut in half way through her lecture, “you're ranting again.”

 

“Well, darling, if people actually knew how to take care of a child then I wouldn't have to.”

 

“As you heard, it was an accident,” Licorus said politely with a strained small smile. “They were waiting for Arcturus.”

 

Magenta made a brief snorting sound. “That does not matter. I am sure that Lord Malfoy has his own elves. Isn't that correct, Lord Malfoy?” Lucius only managed a nod of his head before Magenta started again. “Ah, ha! Then they could have had it pack them some food for the road. 'Tis good to always be prepared. Morgana, I swear every passing generation gets lazier and dumber. Why, such a thing would never have happened to me. I would have skinned my children alive!”

 

Nike blinked again. She had heard that line before.

 

Narcissa, still respectively making conversation, said, “Well, we weren't supposed to be waiting for two hours in the first place.”

 

“Always be prepared,” Magenta repeated, and Nike found herself liking her Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandmother even more. Maybe it was because the portrait reminded her of Narcissa. And because her first concern had been Nike's wellbeing. Only Narcissa had ever been the one to worry about that.

 

“Nobody prepares to wait for  _ two hours _ ,” Licorus clarified, turning about a way in his portrait so he could see his wife. Magenta moved, too, and narrowed her eyes. 

 

“That's right,” she said sweetly, mockingly. “Because your mother never prepared for anything a day in her life, that means the rest of our family shouldn't have to either.”

 

Nike saw that Lucius was gripping Narcissa’s hand while he watched his wife’s ancestors have a little spat. She felt the tight grip Narcissa had on her wrist slacken, too.

 

Nike was now looking amused, yet puzzled, but Narcissa looked around the main living area thoughtfully. Nike knew what she was looking for—a spark of life. A splash of color. There wasn’t any.

 

“My mother was a woman ahead of her time,” Licorus argued. “And she was only late for things that held no great importance; our wedding being one of those things.”

 

Magenta inhaled so loudly, so sharply, and so suddenly, Nike was surprised that the painted woman hadn't fallen out of her painted seat. “Now, you have gone too far, and I am glad that the woman’s portrait was never done.”

 

“You see, this is why I didn’t want to marry you,” Licorus said. “There were plenty of other eligible girls our age, and I could have had any of them to be my wife. They all at least respected my mother.”

 

“Well, too bad none of them came from such a prestigious bloodline like myself,” Magenta put in.

 

“Merlin—help me,” Narcissa muttered quietly under her breath, dismayed. Nike knew that all Narcissa wanted now was for Arcturus to show his face so that she could go home. Apparently one of their house elves was too independent with its thoughts, and the Malfoys didn't like to leave Draco and Pixie alone with it for too long. “All three of us are very tired and hungry, you see. I'm sorry for seeming so rude, but if you or one of the elves were able to fetch Arcturus we'd greatly appreciate it.”

 

“The elf hasn't even come back with my food,” Nike said. “So I doubt that they're any good use—unless that one is just incompetent.” She refused to cross her arms and pout like she wasn't a pureblood heiress. The thought surely crossed her mind though.

 

“Oh, Merlin,” Narcissa said flatly. “Nike, now is not the time for that.” 

 

_ I'd rather eat and listen to the portraits bicker than die from hunger _ —was what Nike wanted to say, but she figured it would be best to keep her mouth shut for now. 

 

“Now, look here,” Magenta said in a tone that made it obvious she would not let Narcissa take charge. She narrowed her painted eyes at the two adults. “You will not talk to future Head of your house that way. And you,” she snapped at the elf Fick, “go get that poor excuse for a house elf and make sure that it has food. Thing, fetch Arcturus now. The child is tired and hungry.”

 

Narcissa’s face was a creamy-pale against her blonde hair. Nike could tell that she was taken aback, embarrassed, and bristling with anger. Nike's hair was pitch black and she was frowning. 

 

Fick and Lemony returned with a loud pop. 

 

“Well?” Magenta said sternly to the shaking elf. “Do you have the food?”

 

“Well?” Nike said the same way when the elf didn't respond fast enough. Lemony hobbled closer to the young girl, and with a snap of it's fingers, a plate of food appeared in its hands. Nike's stomach rumbled and she plucked a grape into her mouth. 

 

_ “Would you all cease your ruckus? My head is splitting in two!”  _ An ominous voice from upstairs yelled at them. 

 

Immediately Nike was pulled into Narcissa's side. Heavy footsteps, followed by the pounding of a cane, echoed around the gloomy place. Looking up in surprise, there stood Great-Grandfather Arcturus. Nike stared at the man and realized that in the comfort of his own home, he looked like a mummy. His eyes were hollows of madness, sunken in until there looked to be nothing but dry tissue. Now, as she looked at him, Nike saw that he was hunched over; his grip on the cane wavering back and forth. Step after step, careful footing after careful footing, Arcturus made his way down the rickety, old spiral staircase that was probably once glamorous back in its prime. 

 

He was then right in front of her, glaring down. 

 

Nike was feeling anxious and scared. She wasn't use to many people looking down on her, she was a Black after all, and everyone knew how unstable they could be so it was better to treat them with the respect they thought they deserved rather than be on the end of their madness. But Nike didn't like the feelings that her Great-Grandfather was making her feel. She knew that for a child so young, her instincts were as good as any Auror who'd train to decipher the good from the bad. It was part of her anxiety that made her evaluate anything that caused her to feel that way. She had learned such a skill from living with Walburga.

 

The only problem was that she didn't know Arcturus, so that not only made him a stranger, but completely unpredictable, too. 

 

She was tangentially aware of the activity now behind her. Lucius had wrapped his arm around Narcissa's middle to restrain her from pulling Nike back. Behind Arcturus, the portraits watched silently.

 

Nike found her voice. “Hello, Great-Grandfather Arcturus.”

 

The old man continued to stare. 

 

“Thank you for taking me in. It is a great honor.”

 

He stuck his nose up. 

 

“Great Uncle, are you alright?” Narcissa questioned when the silence stretched on. “You did not show up to the agreed meeting spot. We were worried.”

 

Narcissa continued to prattle on about their concerns for him, even though Nike knew that it was a lie. And by the look on Great-Grandfather's face, he knew it, too.

 

It was only a minute or so before Arcturus said, “That's enough.”

 

Narcissa's mouth closed with a  _ ‘click’ _ .

 

“That's enough from all of you. You've done what was told of you—now get out.”

 

Still scared, Nike unconsciously reached a hand back for Narcissa. She wanted to cry for her cousin to take her back as an uncomfortable sensation of magic started to almost choke them. But Narcissa could do nothing while the ancient home answered to Arcturus, and started to force her and Lucius out. 

 

“The Ministry will be by to check on her within a months time—its protocol now to ensure that the children are being well taken care of no matter who's custody they are in,” Narcissa said. “They will also come in unannounced.”

 

“Then they shall be met with the Cruciatus,” Arcturus said unemotionally. “The Ministry wouldn't dare step foot in here without my permission.”

 

“The Ministry has changed,” Lucius said, vaguely like a know-it-all. “If you curse one of them, then they will send the Aurors.”

 

Arcturus was frowning, now glaring at the adults. “No matter,” he said. “It's not like the girl’s living situation is an emergency; she's no longer the Ministry’s concern. But know that you can tell them that I will be raising her however I see fit.”

 

“She is the future Lord of our Great House,” Licorus said, speaking up. “Everything pertaining to her comfortableness is an emergency.”

 

To stall Licorus, Arcturus said, “Yes, thank you for reminding me, Lord Licorus.”

 

“You are welcomed,” Magenta said haughtily with a faint sneer. “Considering that you left the poor darling to starve out in the chilly night.”

 

Arcturus closed his eyes briefly. The long exhale through his nose made it fairly obvious that he didn't appreciate the portraits giving him their input. By the look of annoyance on his old face, Arcturus seemed like he was a minute away from covering them up. 

 

Five minutes later Nike was forced to say goodbye. She held onto Narcissa tightly, not wanting to let go. She missed it, though, the mist that had started to cloud Narcissa's eyes. But it was a good thing that she had. If Narcissa had started to cry, then there would've been nothing Nike could have done to hold back the tears that were burning her eyes. 

 

It was terrible to feel like that, standing in a stranger's home, having them frown in disapproval already. Terrible to suddenly become hypersensitive to all the sounds and smells around her. Fear festered up inside of Nike. She had never felt so trapped.

 

“I won't stand for any foolishness, you understand?” Arcturus barked suddenly, looking down at his great-granddaughter like she was a fly he wanted to swat at. “There are rules. And you'll follow those rules without question.”

 

“Yes, Great-Grandfather,” Nike said softly, automatically.

 

“I won't let you disappoint this family like that blood traitor.”

 

Father, Nike thought, feeling cold and winded. She glanced down at her feet, the floor becoming more interesting out of the blue. She realized that she would always be compared to him, no matter how many times she had already proved herself at such a young age. 

 

“Will I be shown around tonight?” Nike asked him. She wanted to get as far away from the subject of her father as she could. 

 

Arcturus, who finally had taken his unsettling eyes off of her, said immediately, and sharply, “No.”

 

“Oh, well, where am I to—”

 

“If you would cease your insufferable gabbing,” Arcturus sneered, “then I’ll have Thing show you to your room.”

 

Nike felt slightly better when her Great-Grandfather pivoted his cane, barked an order to the elf, and hobbled back up the staircase, most likely back to his room. After Thing had checked her suitcase, he turned his attention onto her. “Follow me,” he said. 

 

Thing, who'd been a few steps ahead, glanced over his shoulder to ensure that she was still following. Then he turned back around and began to led the way again. 

 

“Mistress's room.”

 

Blank, spotless, grey-white walls made the room seem even more cold than it actually was. Two lit candles flickered their shadows upon the walls, dancing to an unheard rhythm, and were the only source of light. The lone window was wide and long with the moonlight barely gleaming through the thick white curtains, which pooled at the ledge that was big enough for Nike to use as a seat. The old four poster bed and the nicks in the dusty vanity that was situated in the corner were decorations from the past. The bed was huge compared to Nike's small frame, almost as if the silk wrappings of the throws would swallow her whole. Not seeing a spider web in sight, which she was thankful for, Nike wondered how many years the room had remained vacant. It looked like it hadn't been touched long before she had even been a thought. 

 

“Is everything to mistress's liking?” The elf asked. It's ear twitched when Nike gave a small, unladylike snort. What was there to like? The room was blank and bare in the moonlight. Just like the rest of the house it lacked color, personality….warmth. But who was she to complain? It wasn't like Walburga had been the most colorful, expressive person either. She was use to grey walls and coldness. 

 

The story of my life, Nike thought, stepping fully into the room. Her sadness flooded throughout her body full force. “It'll do,” she said solemnly.

 

* * *

 

**Information/Credits/Disclaimers:** **  
  
**

—All characters and events belong to J. K. Rowling and to the publisher(s) Bloomsbury Publishing (UK), Scholastic (US), and Pottermore (e-books; all languages). Events from the movie(s) belong to the production and distribution companies.

 

—Highgate Cemetery opened in 1839 and it was part of the plan of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries outside of London. Highgate became a very fashionable place for burials. During the Victorian times, Gothic tombs were made with wealth and pageantry. Rumours about cults and witches meeting in the cemetery and holding ceremonies in the ruins of the cemetery started. It was also once suggested that a vampire was on the prowl in the cemetery. 

 

—Ostara (Spring Equinox/Vernal Equinox) takes its name after the Germanic goddess of spring and dawn, Eostre/Ostara, who was traditionally honoured in the month of Eostremonath (the old Anglo-Saxon name for April) with festivals to celebrate fertility, renewal and rebirth. It was from Eostre that the Christian celebration of Easter evolved.

 

—Alpín mac Echdach was a supposed king of Dál Riata, an ancient kingdom that included parts of Ireland and Scotland.

 

—Kenneth MacAlpin (Medieval Gaelic: Cináed mac Ailpin/Modern Gaelic: Coinneach mac Ailpein; 810 – 13 February 858), known in most modern regnal lists as Kenneth I, was a king of the Picts who, according to national myth, was the first king of Scots. He was thus later known by the posthumous nickname of  _ An Ferbasach _ , "The Conqueror". He became the apex and eponym of a dynasty—sometimes called Clann Chináeda—that ruled Scotland from the ninth- to the early eleventh-century.

 

—Siol Alpin (from Gaelic, Sìol Ailpein: Seed of Alpin) is a family of seven Scottish clans able to trace their descent from Alpin, father of Cináed mac Ailpín, King of the Picts, of whom the Scots tradition considered the first King of Scots. The seven clans that make up Siol Alpin are: Clan Grant, Clan Gregor, Clan MacAulay, Clan Macfie, Clan Mackinnon, Clan Macnab, and Clan MacQuarrie.  **(Can you guess which clan Nike's from?)**

 

—The Boy Who Let Go was inspired by  _ The Boy Who Cried Wolf _ . 

 

—Licorus Black (1808—1872) was a pure-blood wizard, as well as the earliest known member of the pure-blood House of Black. He married a pure-blood witch, Magenta Tripe, and is the earliest known ancestor of the Black family, being depicted on the Black family tree tapestry that hangs in the ancestral home of 12 Grimmauld Place. It is possible that he was the brother of Hesper, Alexia Walkin, Phoebe and Eduardus Limette Black.

 

—Magenta Black (née Tripe) (fl. 19th century) was a pure-blood witch married to the pure-blood wizard, Licorus Black, who was the earliest known member of the House of Black. Her name appears on the Black family tree tapestry that hangs in the ancestral home of 12 Grimmauld Place. It is possible that she was Misapinoa, Cygnus I and Arcturus I's mother.

 

—The two characters stated above appear only on the version of the Black family tree shown in the film adaptation of  _ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix _ . They were not included on the version of the tree which J. K. Rowling gave to a charity auction in 2006. However, according to director David Yates, Rowling provided the filmmakers with a copy of the Black family tree going back eight generations. The filmmakers presumably received a more complete version of the tree than the one auctioned off, which only goes back six generations.

 

—This chapter was not overlooked by a beta.   
  
—If there is ever any error within my story pertaining to the Pagan religions and ceremonies then please let me know.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

_ I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood. _

 

**—Melissa Cox**

 

**Chapter 3:**

 

**_Unknown Date, 1989_ **

**_Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England_ **

 

Harry Potter was having that dream again.

 

But it felt like so much more than that.

 

Since they began, a little more than a few months ago, it often felt more like a memory than a dream. It had grown more vivid—more intense. Practically real. 

 

_ He was a baby, maybe a good year or two shy of being considered a toddler, and he was zipping around on a miniature broomstick that only floated a foot off the ground. A cat was running away from him. He was laughing.  _

 

Most nights he would just stand there and stare, thinking. The baby sure looked like him, with the same messy black hair and emerald green eyes, but Harry wasn't so sure. He had never seen a baby picture of himself before, and there were a few differences. The baby wasn't wearing goggles to see, nor did it have Harry’s peculiar birthmark...or was it a scar from the accident he had survived as a baby? He never knew, not really. Aunt Petunia was always mixing up and changing her stories. But, mainly, the child was happy. 

 

_ Less childlike laughter could be heard, too. There, sitting on a couch, cuddled together, were a man and a woman. They were young, and in love. Harry never knew how he knew exactly that—he just had a feeling. Especially since he couldn't see their faces. Where their eyes, mouths, nose and everything else were supposed to be was one big blur. But the woman had long orangey-red hair with fair skin, and the man's wild locks of black hair went perfectly with his dark tanned complexion. The same complexion as Harry, if not Harry being a hair lighter. _

 

Then there were too many nights spent watching the faceless couple. He felt like he knew them—should've known them. It was an odd feeling he'd never know how to fully describe.

 

_ They never moved from their positions. They simply sat there, watching the child and laughing along. Round and round the child chased after the cat, never able to catch it, but the couple egged him on. Always, Harry wanted to ask,  _ who are you? Why do I feel like I should know you?

 

_ In the moment, everything was so serene and normal. Even with the odd occurrences that Harry could only describe as magical. He watched as the baby abruptly became uninterested with the cat, and was plucked off the small broom by the man. The baby giggled. _

 

_ The man, who was obviously the father, entertained the child by blowing puffs of different colored smoke out of the end of a stick. _

 

_ Magic, Harry reminded himself. _

 

_ The mother got up, stopped in front of the windows, and peered between the thick curtains into the dead of night. She stared across the expanse space of open field at something in the distance for a long time. _

 

_ The man called out to her, possibly just saying her name, but Harry couldn't tell. He could never hear their voices; it was always so muffled, so far away, like he was drowning underwater. The woman turned around, and even though he couldn't see her eyes, Harry could tell that she was worried. Harry took it upon himself to look out the window, too, and saw nothing but the night sky. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to see. _

 

_ Glancing out once more, the woman sighed before she turned back around. The baby squealed at the sight of her. Happily, the woman took the baby and showered its face with kisses. _

 

_ The baby's laughter was infectious, and he shielded his face from the onslaught of his mother's lips. He was soon winded, out of breath from laughing so much. Harry wondered what that felt like, to be loved by your own mother, but he didn't dwell on the thought of too long, not wanting to open that can of worms. _

 

_ And, suddenly, there was a sound. He couldn't place it exactly, but knew it was familiar. There was something coming from the sky above—something that rumbles in the air, awakening the night, like a thunderstorm. _

 

_ The baby started to squeal. He was bouncing in his mother's arms with cheeks flushed red and a big smile on his face.  _

 

_ The sound became louder, closer.  _

 

Is that a motorcycle?  _ The answer was right in the fog of his subconscious. He looked out the window again. The sky was still bare, the night a blank canvas. But a gleam of metal reflected off the moonlight and into Harry’s eyes. So it had been a motorcycle creating all that noise, but why had it come from the sky? Harry could vaguely recall a dream he had once had about a flying motorcycle, but that had been nothing except his imagination. _

 

_ And when the front door opened, he saw them. For the first time he saw her. _

 

_ The man who entered was wearing all black. Black boots, black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Yet somehow his hair was even blacker. His face was one big blur, too. _

 

_ The dark skinned man ran towards him. It seemed that it was a reunion of some sorts. The two men embraced each other tightly, and then the dark skinned man reached out and took the child that the man in black had been holding in his arms.  _

 

_ Like the baby boy, the child’s face, which was distinctively feminine, was visible. The little girl happily babbled to the dark skinned man, a few words had actually been said in English, though butchered.  _

 

_ The baby boy held by his mother reached for the girl, squealing. _

 

_ Harry did nothing but watch as the children began to play together once they had been let down. Their innocent shrieks and giggles filled the house with warmth. The little girl's eyes sparkled. _

 

_ Grey eyes. _

* * *

 

**_3 November, 1989_ **

**_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England_ **

 

It had been Pixie’s loud, bed-shaking snore that pulled Nike from her dream and back into the real world.

 

Nike's eyes snapped open as an explosion of morning breath crossed her face. In the moment, the dream was forgotten and all that occupied her mind was the sight of her cousin's mouth wide open with drool staining the pillow underneath her curly head. 

 

“Unnngh,” Pixie moaned when Nike shifted out of bed. She lifted her arm to wipe the sleep away from her eyes.

 

“Morning, Pix,” Nike said, her voice thick from sleep.

 

“What time is it? Time for food?” Pixie asked her cousin. 

 

Pixie rolled onto Nike’s side of the bed and leaned forward to see if she could determine the time by looking out the window. Thick, dark purple curtains blocked her view.

 

“Just go back to sleep,” Nike said as she pulled at a knot in her velvety soft, rich black hair, and wiggled her toes in an attempt to chase away the numbness.

 

Half asleep, and craving warmth, Pixie flipped over on her side and stole the covers Nike had just occupied. Nike rolled her eyes, but chuckled, too. 

 

Nike stood and stretched, making her way across the room to open the curtains. She watched as the sun started to break through the grey clouds. 

 

“Bright,” Pixie hissed. She shielded her eyes from the rising sun, rolling from her back to her stomach with a rumbling whine. She struggled with the blanket, throwing it over her head to hide. “Bright. Bright. Bright. Too bright,” she repeated as Nike continued on with her morning, ignoring her. 

 

Nike slipped behind the wooden room divider and pulled off her nightgown, throwing it into the corner of the room where other dirty clothes laid, waiting for the house elves to pick them up and clean them. She shivered as she stood there only in her underwear for a short moment. It was a cold morning. A very cold morning.

 

She hadn’t been sleeping well as of late; odd dreams keeping her up in the dead of night with so many questions buzzing around in her mind. She was usually as groggy as Pixie in the mornings, especially after her dreams, but the coldness chased away whatever sleep resided in her body.

 

Nike concentrated, honing her magic and core to work as one, and focused on her dresser that was only a few feet away from her. Eventually, the drawers began to quiver, and a clean pair of underwear and socks flew towards her. She smiled at her accomplishment, wrapped a towel around herself, and peaked around the divider to see if Pixie had been awake to see it. 

 

The curly haired girl was still drooling on her pillow.

 

“You better wake up,” Nike said to her cousin on her way to the bathroom. “You’ll miss breakfast, ya know?”

 

Pixie just shoved her head under the pillow and sighed. 

 

Nike managed to take a shower, brush her teeth, and throw on her clothes in less than twenty minutes.

 

_ I wonder if Cissy is awake _ , Nike thought as she bounded down the grand staircase, her bare feet not making a sound against the dark wood. It was a Friday, but it would be a busy one. There were only five days left until Hallows would be upon them. 

 

(November 8th was the true cross-quarter day, being exactly halfway between the Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice. However, like many true and prideful Pureblood families, they celebrated both Hallows and Samhain.)

 

In the hallway a house elf was tending to the portraits of Malfoys passed. Silver blond hair and uncanny blue eyes watched Nike as she walked past them. 

 

Septimus Malfoy cleared his throat, drawing attention to his intense gaze. He always looked like he was glaring menacingly at someone. “Where are your cousins?” He asked her. 

 

Nike shrugged. Pixie was still in bed, and the same was probably true for Draco. It always took them a while to fully wake up and start their day. 

 

“Sleeping, probably,” Nike said to the portrait. “Narcissa will wake them soon.”

 

Then it hit Nike. Where was Narcissa? Usually the woman had already roused the three children out of bed; had them dressed and fed, and ready to head out to the markets to prepare for the coming holiday. So it was safe to say that her cousin’s absence was strange. 

 

“Cissy?” She called out as she stepped away from the portrait and quickly made her way down the hall, heading for the dining room. The elf took advantage of her movement and started to clean Septimus’s frame. 

 

_ Where is she?  _ Nike thought. Narcissa was usually the second to rise in the Malfoy household; the first being Lucius since he normally sat in on the Wizengamot for parliament, and sometimes court. 

 

The dining room was empty, and Nike’s stomach grumbled suddenly at the thought of food. Nike made her way into the drawing room. 

 

The drawing room was widely proportioned and the grandest room of the house. It had ceilings 30 feet high, two chandeliers, and a pipe organ at one end. It had a long ornate table, and the usual furniture was pushed up against the walls. The room had a handsome, ornate marble mantelpiece with a gilded mirror which had an intricately scrolled frame on top. The walls were a dark purple with more portraits, and a large crystal chandelier. The troublesome house elf, Dobby, stood with his back to Nike, snapping his fingers as food appeared on the table, ensuring the plates of food were placed where they were supposed to be.

 

Across the room, below the wall of family photos that were mainly of Nike, Pixie, and Draco, was Narcissa. She was inspecting something in the corner. Nike was transfixed at how tired and old she looked. She was dressed to impress pre usual, but Nike could see how worn she was. Besides at her grandmother’s funeral, Nike really hadn’t thought of her cousin growing older, and that there would come a day when she wouldn’t be around anymore.  _ That’s a thought for another day,  _ Nike reasoned to herself. She pushed the very depressing thought from her head. 

 

Since her biological mother had died— _ more like had been murdered _ , Nike thought—when she was a year and eight months old, and her biological father would never see the light of day again, Narcissa had been the closest thing to a parent Nike had ever had. In all honesty, Narcissa was the only person who ever seemed to care about her. Narcissa had always made her feel loved. Nike smiled. She had never expected to not feel like an orphan, and had imagined that she would only be viewed as the future of House Black and nothing more. 

 

A pang of warmth flooded through Nike as she recalled the years of care Narcissa had given her. No matter how she misbehaved, or acted out, Narcissa never raised a threatening hand, or wand, towards her. The older woman just continued to invest her time, energy, and most importantly, her love. Narcissa wasn’t just ensuring that her father’s great, ancient house would live on. She genuinely cared about Nike and treated her like she was a daughter.

 

Nike wondered further into the room and stopped at the edge of the table—watching Narcissa boss around the elves that were popping in and out. No one had yet to notice her, so Nike just continued to watch her cousin.

 

Out of the three children currently housed in the manor, Nike was the quietest. She could sit for hours—watching, observing, and learning—and not make a sound. She usually got lost in her own reality, not caring about the world around her. Great-Grandfather Arcturus called her a “silly dreamer”, comparing her to the likes of her blood traitor cousin Andromeda.

 

Narcissa turned, sensing another presence in the room. “Nike?” She asked, sounding and looking surprised at the sight of her.

 

“You didn’t wake us up,” Nike said, eyeing her cousin because of her odd behavior. She knew Narcissa was up to something. “Are you alright?”

 

Narcissa nodded her head and smiled. Narcissa’s smiles always made Nike feel special, and today was no different.

 

“I’m fine, love, just preparing is all.” She looked over her shoulder briefly, making sure something was to her liking. “It’ll be a busy day so I figured I would get a head start.”

 

Nike glanced over her cousin with calculating eyes and squinted. “Prepare for what?” She asked. “Don’t you have everything you mainly need for Hallows? What else is there to do?”

 

Narcissa started laughing as she guided Nike towards the door. “There’s something other than Hallows I was preparing for, and it’s much more important.”

 

“Nothing’s more important than a sacred holiday,” Nike said as she dug her heels into the floor, trying to stop Narcissa’s advances.

 

“Could you  _ please  _ not be stubborn right—”

 

“I’m  _ not  _ being stubborn, thank you very much,” Nike snipped, cutting her cousin off. “You’re just acting suspiciously, and I want to know why.”

 

Nike was halfway out the room when Narcissa stopped her suddenly, turning her around. There was a hint of amusement in her blue eyes. 

 

Nike tapped her foot impatiently.

 

“I can’t believe you forgot,” Narcissa said, sticking her hand out to wandlessly summon a chocolate cupcake covered in chocolate icing with a candle stuck in it into her waiting palm. She then handed it to Nike.

 

“Forgot what?” Nike asked. The impatient touch in her voice was noticeable as she looked at her favorite flavor for anything sweet like it was going to bite her.

 

Narcissa smiled. “Happy birthday.” She placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Go wake up your cousins.”

 

_ My birthday,  _ Nike thought as she climbed the stairs and made her way back towards the room she shared with Pixie.

 

Nike had never really celebrated her birthday before; at least, she couldn’t remember ever making a big deal out of it. Great-Grandfather Arcturus shared the same mentality Walburga once had towards birthdays—birthdays were like any other normal in the week. They didn’t see the purpose to waste one day to think about how to celebrate, make the preparations, and how to execute the plan.

 

Walburga use to rant that birthdays were nothing special. “There’s no reason why we can’t celebrate our achievements, milestones—our existence—and be thankful for life on any other day,” she use to say every third of November. “No reason why you can’t have something sweet on any other day.”

 

And Nike knew that her birthday wasn’t just hers. She had learned from the family tapestry of the shared birthday between herself and her father. That meant each year, annoyingly enough, her birthday couldn’t be just her day. And her grandmother had absolutely  _ loathed  _ the fact. 

 

But nothing truly tragic had happened on this day. Maybe it was the pessimistic attitudes of her relatives, but Nike couldn’t remember when it truly happened—somewhere between the time she had been born and until now, she came to dislike her birthday. If she had to put a date on it, then she would have to go with her fourth birthday. Nike had actually caught a little cold that had been going around, but Walburga had insisted on throwing a small get together with other elitist people of their society to scope out a future husband for the then four-year-old.

 

Nike trudged through the hallway. She noticed a small piece of parchment paper folded nicely to the bottom of the cupcake. The note from Narcissa told her that she was so loved by everyone, and that she was turning into a beautiful young lady. The note also mentioned a little surprise for her later on in the day. That made Nike smile.

 

Carefully to not leave any crumbs in her wake, Nike removed the cupcake from its wrapping. She wondered if she was supposed to light the candle and sing “Happy Birthday” to herself. She doubted that she could even remember the words. 

* * *

 

**_Middle of December, 1989_ **

**_Fortress Azkaban, in the Middle of the North Sea_ **

 

The lack of warmth struggled to touch the fortress, fighting against the snow and Dementors. The mingled breaths of prisoner and Auror fought along with it. Thank Merlin that the waves were at least calm, even if it felt like they were wrapped in an eternal snow storm.

 

“So you don’t have the slightest clue as to where that damned traitor is at.” Sirius Black curled further into himself, wrapping his arms around his middle harder than need be. 

 

The snarl in his voice was evident, honestly expected, and Kingsley Shacklebolt was not surprised.

 

He sighed. “I still have people looking into it—they’re on the watch just in case. We’ll find him. And when we do, he’ll get the only punishment he deserves. Then you’ll be free.”

 

Sirius tensed. “Where’s my daughter?”

 

“Your mother died four, five years ago, and she gave custody to your grandfather; the older one—even though he’s far too old to be a guardian. That’s where she’s been since.” The constant wind howled on. “Sirius? Did you hear me?”

 

“I heard you loud and clear,” Sirius gripped. “Do you know how she’s been doing? Is she being properly taken care of? Anything at all?”

 

“Besides the check-up report a few years ago, no, I don’t. She doesn’t get out much, but I do know that your cousin Narcissa takes her in once in a while.”

 

“I don’t want her anywhere near those fucking Death—”

 

“Be quiet.” Kingsley didn’t say it harshly or unkindly, but Sirius did shut up. “Don’t make anymore enemies than you already have.”

 

_ Like that’s possible,  _ Sirius thought. But he kept his mouth shut and listened to Kingsley. There wasn’t much else he could do. Hair fell into his face, the curls had lost their bounce, shielding his eyes. “You don’t understand.” It sounded like something was caught in his throat. The words felt hard to form. “You just don’t understand.”

 

“You were stupid that night. You put yourself in danger, and now your kid doesn’t have either parent.”

 

He sounded so much like his mother, minus being condescending. Sirius knew that Kingsley was pointing out the simple fact, and he wasn’t doing it to be cruel, but it still left an unpleasant spike in his chest.

 

“I know,” Sirius managed to say. His entire body ached, even his hair. He was wet and cold, and he tried to hold onto the last memory he had of Nike. He refused to let that go.

 

_ She’s all I have left. The last good thing in my life. The last thing I have of Marlene—of my…. _

 

“My family.” Sirius’s voice was still strained, and it cracked. He shivered, but not from the cold. Maybe after all these years he was finally losing his mind. He, after all, was no exception to the Black family madness. 

 

Silence stretched on, and Kingsley looked down at him with pity. He debated silently with himself for a moment, but he figured Sirius had a right to have  _ something _ of his child. That, and he knew the man would listen to him now. 

 

“She’s being primed to be everything they wanted you to be,” Kingsley said. His voice was harsh, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold. “Like I said, I don’t know much, but what I do know is that Narcissa loves that girl. I’ve seen them out only a handful of times together, but it’s clear to see. She’s happy with her. Here.” Kingsley dug into his robe and pulled out a clipping from the  _ Daily Prophet  _ a month ago. He slipped it through the bars. “This was her tenth birthday.”

 

Sirius took the clipping, trying to still his shaking, eager fingers. He feared he would tear it in the midst of his excitement. He felt like he was in a dream as he stared at the photo. He couldn’t believe how much time had passed away.

 

She was a tiny thing with the promise of her mother’s twine-thin figure. The image moved and Sirius watched as a pair of arched eyebrows looked down on sweeping lashes. He swore a sculptor couldn’t have fashioned her seraphs ears and pixies nose any better. Nike ran her fingernails through her pitch black hair, making spools of it plunge around her photogenic face, hiding a swans neck—elegant and smooth. Identical silver grey eyes were locked on a feminine figure that he assumed was Narcissa. But what took his breath away was her smile. A set of dazzling white teeth gleamed as she broke into a smile. She lit up the room, and it felt like a jolt of lightning had struck him in the chest when it looked like her moving image was giving him her full attention. Marlene had had the same exact smile. 

 

“She’s so beautiful….” Sirius slumped, memorized by the photo. His eyes were bright for the first time in a long time, and they seemed to glow in the dreary gloominess around them. Dirt and grime coated his face, sweat trickled from his hairline. He was absolutely filthy, but it didn’t seem to matter to him anymore. “She looks so much like me. And she has Marlene’s smile.”

 

Kingsley gave him a moment to fully take in his daughter’s appearance. “So, what about it, Sirius? Be on your best behavior and trust that we’ll find Pettigrew?”

 

What was he even asking? Sirius was too consumed by the constant loop of Nike smiling. But there was another question on his mind. “Will I get my daughter back?”

 

He wouldn’t put his trust in anyone if he couldn’t have his daughter. He wasn’t going anywhere without her. She was all he had. Well, her and Harry—if the latter wasn’t being taken care of properly. 

 

A shadow cast over Kingsley face. His pause was just long enough for Sirius to take his eyes off the moving photo and look up, watching the man weighing the possibilities. “Not right away. There’ll need to be a trail, one or two actually, and then if you are found not guilty there’ll be a long process of determining if your mentally capable of being responsible for a child.”

 

_ That’s alright, I want only the best for her.  _ Sirius nodded. His neck cracked with the movement. “Then I’ll keep up my end.”

 

“Good.” Kingsley angled his body to the door. “And for the record, next time you want to see me, don’t antagonist Fudge.”

 

Sirius paid no mind to Kingsley’s comment. The man left soon after, and Sirius didn’t even notice. He held the picture in front of his face and stared. He didn’t care about the pain in his throat and ribs and back, and pretty much everywhere else. All that mattered was that the pain in his heart ached a little less.

* * *

 

** Information/Credits/Disclaimers: **

 

—All characters and events belong to J. K. Rowling and to the publisher(s) Bloomsbury Publishing (UK), Scholastic (US), and Pottermore (e-books; all languages). Events from the movie(s) belong to the production and distribution companies.

 

—Pyxis “Pixie” Lestrange is the only daughter of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, and one of my original female characters. 

 

—November 8 is the true cross-quarter day, being exactly halfway between Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice, which makes this the actual day of what we now call “Samhain”—was written by Linda Seekins (aka VanirHawk) under the title  _ “Traditional Dates of the Fire Festivals”. _

 

—To the ancient Celts, Samhain (the first of November), which is also the traditional Celtic New Year, was one of the two “hinges” of the year. It was known to be one of the most magical, and often frightening times of the whole year. The Celtic people were in superstitious awe of times and places "in between". At Samhain (which corresponds to modern Halloween), time lost all meaning and the past, present, and future were one. The dead, and the denizens of the Other World, walked among the living. It was a time of fairies, ghosts, demons, and witches. Winter itself was the Season of Ghosts, and Samhain is the night of their release from the Underworld. Many people lit bonfires to keep the evil spirits at bay. Often a torch was lit and carried around the boundaries of the home and farm, to protect the property and residents against the spirits throughout the winter. ( _ Deeper Into Samhain _ , by Susa Morgan Black (Druid, FSA Scot))

 

—An older term for Samhain was “Hallows”, which is still used by some of those who follow the old pre-Gardnerian form of the Craft ( _ Traditional Dates of the Fire Festivals _ , by Linda Seekins (aka VanirHawk)).

 

—In my story “Hallows” will be known as a celebration similar to that of All Saints’ Day. But instead of it being a festival for Christian saints, those known and unknown, it will be for wizards and witches, and for pagan gods and goddesses.

 

—Septimus Malfoy (b. before or between 1772 and 1781) was a pure-blood wizard who lived during the late 18th century. He was influential in the Ministry of Magic, and many claimed that when he served as an advisor the Minister for Magic Unctuous Osbert was little more than his puppet.

 

—Andromeda Tonks (née Black) (b. 1951-1955), also known as Dromeda, was a pure-blood witch and the middle daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black (née Rosier), as well as the sister of Bellatrix and Narcissa. She attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the 1960s and was sorted into Slytherin House. After Hogwarts, she married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, and was disowned by her prejudiced pure-blood supremacist family. From that point onward she and her relatives had no further contact. In 1973 she became the mother of Nymphadora Tonks.

 

—Out of the three Black sisters, Andromeda was the only sister that has not appeared in any of the films.  Andromeda is also the only one of the five Black cousins who has not appeared in the films, as her two sisters appeared in the Half-Blood Prince through to the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, Bellatrix also appearing in the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius Black appeared in Prisoner of Azkaban through Order of the Phoenix and in Deathly Hallows: Part 2, and a younger Regulus Black appeared in one of Horace Slughorn's photographs in the Half-Blood Prince.

 

—Nike was born on the same day (November 3rd) as her father, Sirius Black. There is only a twenty years difference between them. 

 

—This chapter was not overlooked by a beta.

 

—If there is ever any error within my story pertaining to the Pagan religions/ceremonies, or to the mythology (unless stated otherwise) then please let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Condemnant Quod Non Intellegunt — They Condemn What They do not Understand 
> 
> Inter Sicarios — The Assassination
> 
> Ossa Sanguinem — Bleeding Bones

_ I am a Witch _

_ With rhymes and reasons. _

_ I am a changeling like the seasons. _

_ My mother is the Moon, _

_ My father is the Sun; _

_ With Goddess Earth am I as one. _

_ I am a Witch, a Pagan child.  _

_ Mother Nature’s spirit so wild _

_ Grows within me, _

_ Flows within me, _

_ Meandering like a spellbound stream, _

_ Enchanting my every waking dream. _

_ I breathe the air of liberation, _

_ I tend the fire of transformation, _

_ I drink the water of creation, _

_ Earth-magick is my conjuration. _

_ I am a Witch of shadow and light, _

_ Of Avalon mists and ravens’ flight. _

_ I am a Witch, with pride say I, _

_ For a Witch’s soul _

_ Does never die. _

 

— [ **Gerina Dunwich** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/79576.Gerina_Dunwich) **, I Am a Witch**

 

** Chapter 4: **

 

**_Mid September, 1990_ **

**_The Auvergne Region of France_ **

 

Nike had been ten when she saw her second dead body. 

 

Great-Grandfather Pollux Black had finally succumbed to the dragon pox that had been ravishing his body for sometime. 

 

The Black family, and those through the default of marriage, had gathered together once more to lay to rest another family member. This time they had traveled to France via the Floo Network. Great-Grandfather Pollux had lived in France ever since his deceased wife Irma Crabbe had moved them out to one of the many châteaux the family owned when their youngest child had graduated from Hogwarts. 

 

Nike came to the conclusion that she liked France. The atmosphere was just different—in a good way. She loved that each area in France had its own distinctive culture. The Bretons in Brittany were more so English compared to their Norman counterparts in Normandy. The Basque region had a completely different style of cuisine than the typical Lyonnaise dishes, and the homes down south could be painted pink or burnt orange whilst a cottage on the Ile de Re in the Atlantic was always a white-washed. She admired the world famous architecture of Paris, but she could spend hours examining the beauty of the classic French limestone homes. 

 

She would never dare let anyone other than Cissy know, but Nike had enjoyed touring France from what the Muggles called cycling. She had never seen such a peculiar contraption before—although in her dreams there was something similar to the devices, only much bigger, and clunkier, and louder—but she had found herself interested. She didn’t know how to ride one, though, but a cute French boy had offered to let her sit on the back of his  _ bicyclette _ as he had called it. The slow paced method to experience the beauty of the French countryside was something she was glad she hadn’t missed out on. 

 

The villages were another place Nike had enjoyed. Growing up with Great-Grandfather Arcturus in the middle of nowhere made Nike realize that she didn’t like being so far away from everyone. So when she had set foot in Najac, which was too beautiful for mere words, she had never wanted to leave. And she discovered that France had the most gorgeous, most talented and gifted florists on the planet. Her mouth dropped open when she walked through a stunning floral display.

 

Yet it had been Paris to hit her like a ton of bricks. Why would anyone ever want to leave a city as beautiful as Paris? She would have put up a fit if hadn’t been unbecoming of her to do so. The architecture, and the window displays, and the cafés had simply captivated her attention. Nothing, including Rome nor Florence, had ever looked and felt so magical.

 

Her weekly trip had ended much too soon in her opinion, and Nike loathed that she had to become the proper heiress once again. 

 

Great-Grandfather Pollux’s funeral had been small, but it hadn’t been quick. The service was slower than Pyxis and Nike on a broom, taking just as many breaks in between. Everyone had a memory to share, a favorite moment, and a favorite prayer to say. Whoever arranged it—most likely Great-Great Aunt Cassiopeia—must’ve agreed to every request. Halfway through, the elderly and the children were shifting on their feet, and if it hadn’t been for the high sun to keep them awake, there might have been more than just Great-Grandfather Pollux to bury. 

 

The only plus about the ordeal as a whole was that they were in Auvergne, the very heart of France, and House of Black’s ancestral roots. It was a beautiful place that felt like it was hidden away from the rest of the country because of its mountains, forests and wild countryside. It remained remotely untouched, and every corner had a story to tell from the Romanesque churches with black Madonnas to the gorges to drive through and valleys to walk through; rivers to fish and swim in and remote plains for cross-country skiing. It was a beautiful region where the skies were pure and full of stars at night.

 

And the château, which would put the Queen of England’s castle to shame, felt so small and isolated since it was situated on nothing but open fields for miles.

 

The interior of the château focused around the large hallway that acted as the central avenue of the back and forth between the areas of the adjacent rooms. The hallway eventually flowed out to the grand, wide staircase that was situated in the middle of the room. There were seven formal rooms with sixteen foot ceilings, pocket doors, fireplaces and tall windows formed the main block of the building. The entire château was decorated in the original wallpaper from the early 1500s with classical Anglo-Celtic designs and exotic motifs. The bedrooms, however, had been redecorated to approximate the original wallpaper and paint colors.

 

Off the main hallway, to the right, was a small sitting room. The fireplace, situated on the interior wall facing east, had a tall mantel of birchwood with turned spindles flanking a rectangular mirror supporting a tapered hood. The wallpaper was of Anglo-Celtic design with Roman and Greek themes in the frieze on the ceilings and walls. The predominant colors were dark with tan and gold highlights, creating an interesting contrast to the original interior trim painting of ashen pinks, tans, pale blues and black detailing. The combination of colors was repeated throughout the floors of the house. The ceiling was painted pressed metal with curved crown molding. The tall windows were of a Queen Anne style, banded at the top by a panel of colored lights. The height of the windows were emphasized by a dado panel of wood with molded trim beneath each window. The tall, heavy, varnished wood door had a top panel, colored glass panes of amber, blue and pink, in a geometric design.

 

Nike and her cousins had decided to hide out in the sitting room after the funeral, not wanting to listen to boring adult talk as they waited for the goblin to come deliver what was in the will. They were also hiding from the Crabbe and Bulstrode children—both of whom Great-Grandfather Pollux was related to (the former through marriage, and the latter from his maternal side). 

 

And that was where Cygnus Black III found his two grandchildren and great-niece. They were huddled near the fire, cuddled against one another, reading a book out loud. A portrait of one of their many ancestors hung up on the wall assisted them whenever they came across a word or symbol they didn’t know. Glancing at the plaque beneath the portrait, Cygnus could make out the name Hercules Nigreos.

 

Hercules, who was their fourth known ancestor, was depicted as a young man of twenty-six years old, but when he had been alive he was forced to grow up quickly because by age twenty his life was already half over. His young sister-wife, Lyra Nigreos, who had been nineteen when she died, was hung up on the right of his portrait. She was mostly silent, watching her small descendants with a smile on her painted face. 

 

“What does  _ Alea iacta est  _ mean?” Pyxis asked, her mass of unruly curls bouncing on top of her head as she moved it to the side. The sight of it made Cygnus’s heart ache, reminding him of simpler times when Bellatrix had been that age. 

 

“The die is cast,” Hercules answered. His strong accent sounded like nothing spoken today. 

 

“It's a phrase,” Nike added, expanding on Hercules’s response. “It literally means the point of no return. Julius Caesar reportedly said it when he crossed Italy’s Rubicon river with his army.”

 

Lyra finally spoke up, appraising Nike. “You’re very well versed in history.”

 

Nike, who never knew how to respond to a compliment, Cygnus noted, uttered a small thank you and kept her head buried in the book. She had always been a quiet, but respectful child.

 

“Family history is important,” Draco said since he knew his cousin wouldn’t say anything else. “But it can sometimes be boring.”

 

Pyxis made a face. “That’s because you’re stupid.”

 

“I am not!” Draco shouted, offended.

 

“Are to!”

 

“Am not!”

 

“Are to!”

 

Their voices kept getting louder, and poor Nike was sandwiched between them. But she didn’t even pay them any attention. She kept reading, most likely use to her cousin’s childishness. 

 

“Children,” Cygnus scowled from the doorway. Pyxis and Draco jumped at his voice comically while Nike looked up, startled. “Need I tell Narcissa that you two are acting like toddlers?”

 

They both shook their heads. “No, grandfather!” 

 

Their fear was smart, and Cygnus silently chuckled to himself. Narcissa had most certainly been the one who took after her mother in both personality and mindset. She had been her mother’s shadow growing up, wanting to be exactly like her. And she had also decided to punish her children the same way she and her sisters had been punished.

 

“Then behave,” Cygnus advised. He stepped into the room and situated himself on the plush chair, catercorner near the fireplace.  “What are you reading?”

 

Nike held up the front cover of the book:  _ Condemnant Quod Non Intellegunt _ .

 

“That’s a good book. I had to read it when I was younger than you.”

 

“Really?” Pyxis piped up. She scrambled into her grandfather’s lap, one of her favorite places in the world. Her grandfather always told the best stories, and he never got on her for being too energetic like her aunt and uncle would. She loved him more than anyone, and it was no secret that she was the apple of his eye, but Nike and Draco came in at a close second.

 

Cygnus nodded his head. “Do you know who wrote that book?”

 

The three children shook their heads. The name of the author was written in a language that they didn’t understand. Nike assumed it was Gaulish. 

 

“My father wrote it,” Hercules said. “One of his greatest accomplishments.”

 

Lyra nodded her head. “I remember sitting on his lap in the late hours of the night, watching him write away.”

 

“What was his name?” Draco asked. 

 

“Vopiscus, son of Vercingetorix the Avernian.”

 

Nike’s eyes and mouth had frozen wide, opened in an expression of stunned surprised. She stared straight at the portraits. “Vercingetorix? As in  _ the  _ Vercingetorix who united the Gauls against Caesar? That Vercingetorix?”

 

Hercules and Lyra nodded.

 

“I’m a descendant of  _ Vercingetorix _ ?”

 

Cygnus smiled gently at Nike’s excitement. It was rare to see her so lively. She usually had her nose buried in one of the many ancient books found in the family’s expansive library, or she was standing off in the shadows—the perfect little wallflower being seen and not heard; just like Arcturus would have wanted. It was sometimes hard to believe that she was Sirius’s child, or even a McKinnon. He recalled how loud and rambunctious that clan of blond haired people had been. 

 

“How come no one told me this?” Her eyes settled on Cygnus, and he simply opened his arm that wasn’t keeping Pyxis steady.

 

Nike obeyed her great-uncle’s silent command and crawled onto his lap. Draco settled himself at his grandfather’s feet.

 

“We come from a long line of strong witches and wizards,” Cygnus explained. He took the book from Nike’s hands gingerly, keeping hold of the page they had stopped on. “It’s sometimes hard to remember them all. How do you find Vopiscus’s wirting?”

 

Cygnus swore that Draco mumbled something along the lines of  _ its so boring  _ into the fabric of his pants leg, but he couldn’t have been sure. 

 

“Complex,” Nike replied. “Some of the words aren’t written in Latin.”

 

“That’s because it’s Gaulish.” Cygnus opened the book and skimmed over the page, recalling all those long hours of his youth spent trying to depecher the dead language. “His childhood was much different from yours, wasn’t it?”

 

Pyxis shook her head.

 

“Oh?” Cygnus raised an eyebrow. 

 

“He lost his father and mother, too—like Nike and me.”

 

Cygnus pressed his lips together tightly, suddenly having nothing to say. He sometimes forgot just how intelligent and aware the children truly were.

 

“He wasn’t talking about that, Pix,” Nike said. She hadn’t looked up or reacted to her cousin’s words, her eyes were glued to the book. “Vopiscus grew up in the first century BC, and was the son of a great chieftain. He really didn’t have a childhood.”

 

Pyxis stuck her tongue out playfully, and Nike returned the gesture, much to Cygnus’s surprise.  

 

“Grandfather,” Draco called out from his spot on the floor. “Could you read it to us? We’re struggling with some of the words.”

 

Cygnus cleared his throat, and began to read where the children had left off. They were just starting the chapter titled  _ “Inter Sicarios” _ —discussing how Vopiscus mastered the Imperius, and managed to put the Senate under the curse to kill Caesar in his plot for revenge—when Narcissa appeared in the doorway.

 

Cygnus saw her first. He narrowed his eyes at her grim face. He then registered the goblin beside her.

 

The children had noticed them, too, when Cygnus stopped reading so suddenly.

 

“Narcissa, is something wrong?”

 

She pressed her lips together. “That would depend on your definition of wrong, father. Grandfather had one last request.”

 

Cygnus bit back a sneer. Leave it to his father to still be making requests even beyond the grave. 

 

“It would be best if Mucktooth explained,” Narcissa advised. 

 

“Of course.” Cygnus closed the book, handing it back to Nike. “Children, why don’t you go play with the others?”

 

The three knew that Cygnus meant it as an order, not a suggestion, so they made their way out of the room when the goblin spoke up. 

 

“Actually, Lady Black can stay.” Those beady black eyes bore into Nike’s soul, making her flinch unconsciously. The goblin sneered, but she supposed it was equivalent to a smile; showing off rows of long, pointed teeth. “It involves her after all.”

 

She didn’t like the way that sounded. Owlishly, her eyes locked on her great uncle’s, curious and worried. Behind her, she heard Draco and Pixie pause, both were also curious.

 

She hugged the ancient book to her chest. “What involves me?”

 

Narcissa felt her heart constrict. Nike looked so tiny and scared as she looked around the room, trying to figure out what her deceased great-grandfather wanted from her. 

 

Mucktooth stayed silent, eyeing the two children behind Nike. Patience thinning, Cygnus barked for Draco and Pyxis to go about their way, and they did just as they were told like hellhounds were snapping at their heels. 

 

Finally alone in the proper company, Mucktooth handed Cygnus a piece of parchment paper. “Your father wanted Lady Black to undergo the initiation.”

 

_ The initiation?  _ Nike wondered.

 

Cygnus pulled a face. “That’s preposterous. She is the next in line, and there are no others who can refute or challenge her claim.”

 

“While that may be so,” Mucktooth said, “you know as well as I do, Lord Black, that initiations were also used as a means to weed out those unworthy of the title.”

 

“Unworthy?” Nike echoed. Deep lines formed in the middle of her forehead, eyebrows creasing. “Why would he think me unworthy?”

 

Neither father or daughter had the heart to answer her, but Nike already knew why. 

 

As long as Sirius Orion Black III was her father, she would always be regarded as the wildcard and judged for his sins and shortcomings. She would always be the flesh of the abomination as her grandmother use to say day in and day out. 

 

“Never mind that,” Narcissa snapped, but it was directed towards the goblin. She pulled Nike against her, fingers massaging the tension that shouldn’t have been in a ten-year-old’s shoulders. “You are more than worthy of the title Heiress Black, and nothing will change that because you will pass the initiation.”

 

Cygnus stared at his daughter. “You expect her to go through with this?”

 

Narcissa squared her shoulders. “I don’t think she has much of a choice, father.”

 

“She’s a child,” Cygnus practically hissed.

 

“Heirs use to be chosen at seven,” Mucktooth replied evenly without missing a beat.

 

“And then the laws changed it to fourteen due to the high Obscurus rate.”

 

Great-Uncle Cygnus was right. Centuries ago young witches and wizards were considered sufficiently mature to be culpable of his or her use of magic, and thus in need of training and guidance. So, theoretically speaking, at the age of seven young children were considered to some extent an adult, just rather inexperienced ones, but then the witch persecutions and hunts had sparked a movement unlike any other.

 

Young witches and wizards started dying from a parasitic disease that was named an Obscurus, and it started to eat at them when they suppressed their magic out of fear of being caught. The high rising death toll from that parasite was part of the reason why Hercules and Lyra had married. 

 

And so, when it came to inheriting a title or position of authority, the laws had decided that the regent or lord protector would have to be at least fourteen. Yet as the times changed, the Ministry had tweaked the laws yet again a little over a hundred years ago and declared that a rightful heir would have to be seventeen to fully inherit everything entitled to them. 

 

“Lord Pollux just wants to ensure that Lady Black is worthy,” Mucktooth said. After being the Black’s financial adviser for years, he had grown accustomed to the theatrics. “She will not be inheriting anything until she is seventeen.”

 

_ Unless I’m deemed unworthy, that is. _

 

“Preposterous,” Cygnus said again. He shook his head and opened his mouth to reject once more when Narcissa spoke up.

 

“Father, I think it would do good for Nike to go through with this. While it is grandfather’s last wish—and we should respect it—this may be a blessing in disguise.”

 

Nike craned her neck to look up at her cousin. “How so?”

 

“The sins of your father haunt you, and many people, including our own family members, have formed an opinion about you just off of that. But that shouldn’t define you—it  _ doesn’t  _ define you. Partake in the initiation, Nike, and prove everyone who ever doubted you wrong.”

 

Nike thought her hearing had gone funny for a second. She blinked, replaying Narcissa’s words back in her head.

 

Partake in the initiation, partake in the initiation, partake in the initiation. 

 

_ Prove everyone who ever doubted you wrong. _

 

Nike kept her eyes locked on Narcissa’s. Not to discuss things, they seemed to have no other choice but to go through with this. Just to brace herself. 

 

Then Nike took a deep breath, and looked back at the goblin.

 

“Okay,” she said, feeling weary, yet determined. Narcissa would never put her in a situation where she thought she may fail. “I’ll do it.”

* * *

 

Great-Uncle Cygnus has been instructed to take Nike into the ceremonial room at the end of the château where they would be met by a High Priestess. The first thing Nike took notice of was the large alter situated in the middle of the room. It was a permanent alter that stayed up year round, decorated as the Wheel of the Year turned. There were also photos, ashes, and heirlooms of deceased family members placed upon it, too. 

 

Nervously, Nike toyed with the gemstone that was resting in her clammy palms. Great-Uncle Cygnus had given it to her so that it could be consecrated by the High Priestess. The gem was an agate, and it had many magical uses from memories and healing, to overcoming feelings of loneliness or sadness. But this time it would serve as a purpose in discoveries and finding the truth. 

 

As they waited for the High Priestess to create a sacred place, Nike had changed into a white ritual robe. 

 

Not a word was said when the High Priestess took the gemstone from Nike for it to be consecrated, and no sooner was she beckoned closer to the initiation area.

 

“Who approaches this sacred space?” The High Priestess asked.

 

Nike was surprised to hear such a familiar voice. It was the same High Priestess who had conducted Walburga’s funeral.

 

“I bring you one who wishes to become heir apparent of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, and who wishes to honor the god & goddess,” Great-Uncle Cygnus said. 

 

The High Priestess turned to Nike. “Seeker, by what name will you be known within this sacred circle?”

 

“Nike Regulus Black.”

 

A pregnant pause met Nike’s words, and the High Priestess turned her green eyes away from the child and stared deeply at the agate. She ran the tips of her fingers over the gemstone so softly as if she thought it was made of glass, and would break under any pressure. 

 

“The gods have deemed you worthy,” The High Priestess announced finally. Nike also exhaled, finally feeling like she could breathe again. “Please enter the sacred circle, and kneel in their presence.”

 

Nike stepped into the circle and felt a shiver run up her spine, like a bolt of electricity. Great-Uncle Cygnus waited patiently outside the circle, but he stood dangerously close to the edge of it. Nike could feel his apprehension and the tension vibrating from his being. He still thought that it was utterly insane for her to go through with this, but he had kept his mouth shut once Nike agreed. 

 

“Seeker,” the High Priestess said, “before you are initiated as heir apparent, are you ready to be purified?”

 

Nike took a deep breath. “Yes.”

 

Nike was then ritually purified with earth, air, fire and water—salt or sand, incense, candles, and consecrated water.

 

“By becoming the heiress of your coven, you become part of a greater spiritual family. As such, you are part of an endless circle of kinship and hospitality. Hail ye, Gods and Goddesses! Hail to kinsmen and clan, to the ancestors who watch over us, and to those who may follow. Here before you kneels Nike Regulus Black, the Seeker, soon to be a sworn heir of this coven.”

 

As the High Priestess continued to speak, a humming sauntered it’s way into Nike’s ears, the voices of multiple people gently speaking at once. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, they spoke too low and all at once, and Nike wondered who they were. Maybe they were her ancestors watching over her, or perhaps it was the gods and goddesses judging her.

 

“Seeker, the mysteries of the gods are many. We can never hope to learn them all, but we can indeed follow them on our journey through this life and the next. As an heiress, you will learn and grow and evolve every day. You will seek new knowledge, and attain it in direct proportion to your efforts. Let the Gods and the Ancient Ones guide you on your travels. Are you willing and able to uphold the values and principles of your coven?”

 

“I am,” Nike said.

 

“Are you prepared, Seeker, to be born anew, to begin this day a brand new journey, as part of your new role within your family, and as a child of the Gods?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then rise, Nike Regulus Black, and emerge from the womb of darkness, and be welcomed into the light and love of the Gods. You are no longer a mere Seeker, but an heiress of this coven.”

 

Nike stood up slowly, not willing to admit that her legs were shaking; from what, she did not know. The High Priestess also gave her her new consecrated ritual robe which was all black. 

 

“This robe represents your role as heiress within the coven. It marks you before the gods as one who wishes to follow their path,” the High Priestess said. She then presented Nike with her consecrated magical tool, the agate gemstone. “I give you this tool, and bid you use it wisely, and always in accordance with the mandates and guidelines of our tradition.”

 

And then the High Priestess did something Nike was completely unprepared for. She had leaned down and kissed her—on the mouth. It wasn’t a romantic kiss that Pixie giggled about from sneakily reading Narcissa’s grownup books, and it wasn’t the chaste ones she had seen many couples bestow upon one another in public. This kiss was feathery light, and Nike barely felt the woman’s lips graze her own.

 

She knew that she must have looked ridiculous with her eyes bulging out of their sockets, but she couldn’t help it. No one told her that the initiation would be sealed with a kiss, and she didn’t know how she felt about her first kiss being stolen. 

 

(Theodore Nott kissing her under the peach tree in the backyard of Malfoy Manor one summer ago did not count since they had only been five, and both were just curious as to why adults did it all the time.)

 

“Welcome, Nike Regulus Black, to your new title. May you be blessed by the Gods.”

 

The ritual ended with the three occupants giving a salute to the gods and goddesses. Great-Uncle Cygnus grabbed Nike immediately and placed her under his arm, where she felt like she was finally grounded.

 

The High Priestess kept her eyes trained on Nike’s small figure, head moving to the side as the child shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. 

 

“I do believe a cakes and ale ceremony would be a good way to congratulate Heiress Black and the rest of the coven, Lord Black,” The High Priestess suggested.

 

Great-Uncle Cygnus’s eyes glared with an intensity and tightened his hold on Nike. “Yes,” he agreed through his teeth. “I think that would be best.”

 

They escorted Nike out of the room, the girl kept a firm grasp onto her great-uncle’s robes if her legs dared to give out from underneath her. 

 

Dread like no other crept down her spine like a spider carefully weaving its web. She could feel it slowly taking over until her legs almost locked up on her, freezing her in place. Her stomach felt full yet empty at the same time, and her feet felt like bricks. But what worried her the most of all was that her mind was completely numb. All she could do was follow behind her great-uncle like she was some simpleton. 

 

Only one phrase ran through her mind then:  _ Alea iacta est. _

 

The die is cast.

* * *

  
  


**_Late October, 1990_ **

**_The Outskirts of Greater Manchester, England_ **

 

Nike hissed when a stinging hex made contact with the back of her hand. 

 

“You’re no’ payin’ attention, child,” her tutor scowled her for the hundredth time that day. 

 

Nike cradled her hand to her chest, trying to soothe away the sting. “Yes, I am.” She glared at the elderly Scottish woman.

 

Madame Greer Fotheringham was not impressed by her sulking child act. The woman was old enough to be Nike’s grandmother, but she was young at heart still and could out duel the finest witch or wizard. Madame Greer had been something of a prodigy in her youth, and she had won many tournaments since then. And since the Most Noble and Ancient of Black only received the finest things in life, it was no surprise that a world renown duler would be Nike’s teacher. 

 

She was stern woman with an upper lip curled in a permanent sneer, rarely ever smiling. Her eyes were sharp and dark, and Nike swore that the woman had better vision than herself. What once had been locks of wavy brown were now dotted with grey throughout, and were situated on top of her head in the neatest, tightest bun Nike had ever seen. Her accent was thick, but nothing too strong that Nike couldn’t understand her, and the woman was proud of her heritage. While there was no time to waste in regards of dueling, Madame Greer was kind enough to educate Nike about her Scottish roots. The woman had acted like it was a downright crime that Nike knew nothing about the Most Noble and Ancient Clan of McKinnon—which she would one day inherit as well—except for what was written in textbooks. 

 

“Then wha’ spell did I just use?” 

 

“The stinging hex.” Nike held up her hand, showing the red scorched mark that was already swelling.

 

Madame Greer stared at her. “Don’t be smart. It’s no’ cute.”

 

“I wasn’t being smart,” Nike mumbled. 

 

Madame Greer raised an eyebrow. “Ye don’t know,” was all she said as she pointed her wand at Nike and gave it an upward flick. There was a flash of green light, and Nike found herself dangling upside down in midair as if she were hoisted at the ankle by an invisible hook.

 

Nike gasped. “Put me down!” She tried to jerk her ankle free even though she knew it was no use.

 

“Get yourself down, girl,” Madame Greer challenged. “If you’re no’ goin’ta take yer lessons seriously then there is no purpose in me teachin’ ye. I don’t know where yer head has been in the past three hours, but this behavior is unacceptable. Perhaps ye just need a little motivation.”

 

Keeping her wand trained on Nike, Madam Greer didn’t even flick her wrist as she said, “Ossa Sanguinem.”

 

The pain was like a knife twisting in Nike’s spine, scratches appearing and hurting so much worse than they usually would. It shot up fast, erasing every thought from her head and paralyzing her body. She assumed she screamed, but she couldn’t even hear herself if she had—she could only focus on the pain. Her screaming couldn’t have lasted long though because by the time Madame Greer had stopped torturing her, her speech could only come out in flattering gasps as she tried to regain focus. 

 

Madame Greer moved closer—all of the sudden uncharacteristically soft—and stroked her face the best to her ability since Nike was still upside down. 

 

“Get yourself down now, girl.”

 

Nike swallowed, unsure if she could even speak coherently enough, but she knew she had no choice. If she didn’t even try then Madame Greer would leave her dangling.

 

“Lib….lib—liber….” Nike took a deep breath and tried to make her tongue and brain work together. She tried once more. “Liberacorpus.”

 

She fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. 

 

“Good,” Madame Greer said. She moved back to the side of the room she had been standing by. “Now stand up, pick yer wand, an’ bow.”

 

Slowly Nike tried to stand up, but quickly realized how futile her efforts were when she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Sharp pain laced around her body, and colorful spots danced behind her eyelids as she shut her eyes tight. It felt like her whole body had been beaten senseless, and even the smallest of movement caused every bone to ache. 

 

Regardless, she needed to get up. She needed to obey her instructor—unless she wanted to get cursed again.

 

She grabbed the corner of the nearby desk, wincing in pain. She was careful not to put any strain on her muscles. 

 

Finally, she was standing. But it felt like she was standing in water, unable to do anything as the current pushed her this way and that.

 

“Bow,” Madame Greer commanded.

 

Nike obeyed. 

 

“Put yer wand up, child. Yer still on the defense.”

 

Nike bit back a groan. Her body instinctively tensed up, preparing for whatever horrible spell the older woman had in mind for her, knowing well enough that it would be too advanced for a child like her to properly defect.

 

Madame Greer’s hand movements were much too quick for Nike to keep up with, and just when she was going to speak the incantation, a loud  _ ‘pop’  _ assaulted their ears.

 

“Madame Black.” Thing hobbled over to her and bowed, but she didn’t miss the way the elf’s small, dark eyes roamed over her disheveled appearance. “I be’s having a letter for you.”

 

Nike had never been so grateful to see the elf in her entire life. She had almost thanked it. 

 

She silently held out her hand, and Thing handed her the letter encased in an envelope before he disappeared.

 

“Go on an’ open it,” Madame Greer said before Nike could even ask. 

 

Nike opened the envelope and read the letter. She had almost forgotten that her eleventh birthday was fast approaching.

 

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_ Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore _

_ (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_ Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) _

 

_ Dear Ms. Black, _

 

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

 

_ Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. _

 

_ Yours sincerely, _

 

_ Minerva McGonagall _

_ Deputy Headmistress _

 

“A congratulations is in order I assume,” Madame Greer drawled. 

 

“Yes, thank you,” Nike said. She folded the letter neatly and put it on the desk. She would have to show her great-grandfather later on. 

 

“Hogwarts feels like it was forever ago,” Madame Greer reminisced. Nike assumed that it had been forever ago. The woman was old enough to be her grandmother, maybe even her great-grandmother. “I was a Ravenclaw. Made ma parents proud, it did. What house do you want to be in?”

 

“Slytherin,” Nike said immediately.

 

Madame Greer nodded her head.

 

“What house to do  _ you  _ want to be in?” She asked again.

 

“Slytherin,” Nike said again.

 

She knew no other house except for the one whose emblem was that of a snake. She figured that even if her family wasn’t expecting her to be placed in Slytherin then she would still find herself there. Her time with her family taught her many things, but cunningness and ambition were certainly held to a high regard. But she supposed Ravenclaw would have been her second choice—that is, if she was allowed to have one.

 

“Slytherin will be lucky to have ye then,” Madame Greer hummed. She raised her wand. “But ye won’t earn yer house any points if ye don’t concentrate. So, pay attention.”

 

Nike didn’t have enough time to defend herself when Madame Greer shouted  _ Petrificus Totalus  _ and a white light hit her right in the chest.

* * *

  
  


** Information/Credits/Disclaimers: **

 

—All characters and events belong to J. K. Rowling and to the publisher(s) Bloomsbury Publishing (UK), Scholastic (US), and Pottermore (e-books; all languages). Events from the movie(s) belong to the production and distribution companies.

 

—Auvergne is a historical region in central France. The mostly rural, mountainous area is popular for hiking and skiing, with vast forests and dormant volcanoes. Since 1 January 2016, it has been part of the new region Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes. 

 

—The description of Auvergne can be found under the article “The Auvergne Region of France” by Mary Anne Evans.

 

—Pollux Black (1912 – 1990) was a pure-blood wizard, the eldest child of Cygnus Black II and Violetta Bulstrode, the brother of Cassiopeia Black, Marius Black, and Dorea Black, the husband of Irma Crabbe, the father of Walburga Black, Alphard Black, and Cygnus Black III, the grandfather of Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, Andromeda Tonks, and Narcissa Malfoy. 

 

—Irma Black (née Crabbe) (fl. 1925-1938) was a pure-blood witch who was the wife of Pollux Black, the mother of Walburga Black, Alphard Black, and Cygnus Black III, (through her first child) the maternal grandmother of Sirius Black and Regulus Black, and (through her third child) the paternal grandmother of Bellatrix Lestrange, Andromeda Tonks, and Narcissa Malfoy. Irma may also be a relative of Vincent Crabbe and his father.

 

—Interesting Fact: On the Black Family Tree, it states that Pollux and (possibly) Irma were thirteen years old when they had their first child, Walburga. This is most likely one of the numerous mathematical mistakes made by J. K. Rowling (who frequently admits that maths is not her strong suit). Then again, it's possible Rowling is showcasing that teenage pregnancy is as common in the Wizarding world as it is in the Muggle world.

 

—Cassiopeia Black (1915 – 1992) was a pure-blood witch, the eldest daughter of Cygnus Black II and Violetta Black (née Bulstrode) and sister of Pollux, Marius and Dorea. Cassiopeia never married or had any children.

 

—Cygnus Black (1938 – 1992) was a pure-blood wizard and member of the noble Black family, the youngest son of Pollux Black and Irma Crabbe. He married Druella Rosier, and the couple had three daughters: Bellatrix, the eldest, Andromeda, the middle child, and Narcissa Black, the youngest child.

 

—Like many other members of the House of Black, Hercules ( **_one of my original characters_ ** ) is named after a constellation, and he is credited ( **_in my story_ ** ) to be one of the first known ancestor to be named after a star. Hercules constellation is located in the northern sky. It was named after Hercules, the Roman version of the Greek hero Heracles. Hercules is the fifth largest constellation in the sky, but has no first magnitude stars. In traditional depictions, the star Ras Algethi (Alpha Herculis) represents Hercules’ head and a prominent asterism, the Keystone, marks his torso, as he stands victoriously on Draco’s head. In mythology, the constellation Hercules is usually associated with the penultimate labour of Heracles, which involved killing the dragon Ladon, who guarded the garden of the Hesperides. The dragon is represented by the constellation Draco. Hercules constellation was first catalogued by the Greek astronomer Ptolemy in the 2nd century. It remains one of the 88 modern constellations today. It is the second largest of the modern constellations.

 

—Like many other members of the House of Black, Lyra ( **_one of my original characters_ ** ) is named after a constellation, and she is credited ( **_in my story_ ** ) to be one of the first known ancestor to be named after a star. Lyra constellation lies in the northern sky. It represents the lyre, a musical instrument with strings used in antiquity and later times. The constellation is associated with the myth of the Greek musician and poet Orpheus. Lyra was often represented on star maps as a vulture or an eagle carrying a lyre, and hence is sometimes referred to as Vultur Cadens or Aquila Cadens ("Falling Vulture" or "Falling Eagle"), respectively. Lyra contains Vega, the fifth brightest star in the sky and the second brightest star in the northern hemisphere. It was first catalogued by the astronomer Ptolemy in the 2nd century, and is one of the 88 constellations recognized today.

 

—I used Google Translate to translate ‘black’ into Latin. If Nigreos is not the correct translation of the color then please let me know!

 

—Gaul (Latin Gallia, French Gaule) is the name given by the Romans to the territories where the Celtic Gauls (Latin Galli, French Gaulois) lived, including present France, Belgium, Luxemburg and parts of the Netherlands, Switzerland, Germany on the west bank of the Rhine, and the Po Valley, in present Italy. In 58 BC Julius Caesar launched the Gallic Wars and had conquered the whole of Gaul by 51 BC.

 

—Vercingetorix was a king and chieftain of the Arverni tribe; he united the Gauls in a revolt against Roman forces during the last phase of Julius Caesar's Gallic Wars. He was the son of Celtillus the Avernian, leader of the Gallic tribes. At the Battle of Alesia, the Romans besieged and defeated his forces. In order to save as many of his men as possible, he gave himself to the Romans. He was held prisoner for five years. In 46 BC, as part of Caesar's triumph, Vercingetorix was paraded through the streets of Rome and then executed by strangulation. To this day, Vercingetorix is considered a folk hero in Auvergne, his native region. There is no credible source that indicates Vercingetorix was ever married or had children.

 

—The Arverni were a Celtic tribe. The tribe was located in what is today the French Auvergne region, which derives its name from the Arverni. One of the most powerful tribes in ancient Gaul, the Arverni opposed the Romans on several occasions.

 

—An Obscurus is the manifestation of the repressed energy of a young wizard or witch (known as an Obscurial). Described as a "dark" and "parasitic" force, an Obscurus is created when the child in question consciously attempts to repress their magical abilities or were forced to do so through physical or psychological abuse. This energy can manifest itself as a separate entity that can erupt in violent, destructive fury.

 

—The initiation was inspired by the article “Initiation Ritual for a New Seeker” by Patti Wigington. I just tweaked it the slightest bit to fit the story.

 

—Like many other members of the House of Black, Pyxis is named after a constellation. Pyxis constellation lies in the southern sky. It represents a mariner’s compass. The constellation Pyxis was created by the French astronomer Nicolas Louis de Lacaille in 1751-52 during his exploration of the southern skies. He named the constellation la Boussole and later Latinized the name to Pixis Nautica. The constellation appeared under this name in the second edition of Lacaille’s chart in 1763. The name was eventually shortened to Pyxis. The constellation represents the magnetic compass used by navigators and seamen and should not be confused with Circinus, which was named after a draftsman’s compasses. Pyxis lies in the vicinity of the three constellations that were once known as Argo Navis, a single large constellation that represented the ship of the Argonauts.

 

—This chapter was not overlooked by a beta.

 

—If there is ever any error within my story pertaining to the Pagan religions/ceremonies, or to the mythology (unless stated otherwise) then please let me know.


End file.
